


lemonade

by strangeparties



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: (Hints of Future) Roleplay, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blowjobs, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Dirty Talk, Dirty Twitter Accounts, Double Entendres, Eliott is a mix of confident beast and awkward potato, Explicit Sexual Content, Facials, First Meetings, Fluff and Smut, Lingerie, Lots of Innuendo, Lucas is a sassy little shit, M/M, Manhandling, Masturbation, Meet-Cute, Public Blow Jobs, Rimming, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut, Wall Sex, camboy au, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-01-30 11:11:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 42,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21427270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeparties/pseuds/strangeparties
Summary: luluhateslemonsstudies biochemistry. He's a romantic, but by his own admission has never been in a real relationship. He has a mole on his right collarbone, and his lips form the most perfect ‘O’ when he comes.He’s also two rows in front of Eliott in his Philosophy lecture, wearing a hoodie a size too big and thick glasses that look ready to slide off at a moment’s notice.or: Lucas is a camboy dispensing advice to viewers, and Eliott is one of his loyal fans. Camboy/Meet-Cute/Uni AU.
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant
Comments: 200
Kudos: 911





	1. too into lemons

**Author's Note:**

> Two things! Mind the tags and please ignore tweet timestamps. And this sorta goes without saying because of the premise, but please: do not read if you’re uncomfortable with explicit sex scenes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet our players: Eliott - college student by day, artist-slash-model by night. Lucas - college student by day, the Carrie Bradshaw of camboys by night. And Eliott recognizes him sitting a few rows away in class. (Also featuring Sander - part-time amateur photographer, full-time asshat).

Eliott’s dreaming in class.

It’s not the first time this has happened. Usually, the dreams would consist of something really innocuous, like starring as an extra in a Harry Potter movie or riding on a giant Godzilla-sized Brian, his childhood pet, through the campus and having Brian “accidentally” stomp on obnoxious frat guys who all thought ‘desperate catcaller’ counted as a personality trait.

Today’s dream is particularly interesting: it features luluhateslemons - Lulu, for short - sitting two rows down from Eliott in his Philosophy lecture. 

The guy looks about the right height and body type; the first knob of his spine visible when he pushes his arms inward to adjust his hoodie; the narrow slope of his shoulders matches the one Eliott’s seen about a hundred times now online. Lulu has a mole on his right collarbone; Eliott catches a glimpse of a mole on the same spot when he swivels halfway around to put his backpack on the floor and the hoodie hangs loose on his slim frame. He has bouncy brown hair that bobs up and down as he walks; it catches the light in a way that makes him seem like a literal angel with a halo coming to grace the plebes with his presence. Eliott has always imagined Lulu to be a natural brunette - especially if the carpets matched the drapes - and he’s said in one of his shows that he’s never dyed his hair.

And of course, most obviously, he’s always pictured Lulu to be handsome. Beautiful, even. And the guy his imagination conjured up for him is the very picture of beauty: glasses couldn’t conceal thick lashes framing bright blue eyes; the sloping curve of cheekbones carved by the Lord himself; his lips growing increasingly redder as he worries at them between his teeth, glancing around the room with apparent nerves.

If he could congratulate the part of his brain responsible for coming up with _that_ face for a job well done, he would. Exceeds expectations, really.

He’s had this exact scenario play out before. Except in that one, he’s alone in the classroom and Lulu goes straight up to him shirtless and in boxer shorts that cut off mid-thigh, the usual strategically placed snapback covering his eyes. He proceeds to sink down on his lap apropos of nothing, rolling his hips slowly in a way that captures how he’d move on toys and pillows in his shows. There’s that little beautiful mole, of course, and Eliott imagines licking it as Lulu grinds deliciously on his lap.

It’s just like that scene two nights ago when luluhateslemons_, _with his back to the camera, kissed the tip of a neon purple dildo and proceeded to fuck himself on it with gusto, body arching as he braced his palms against his boring striped blue sheets. Now it’s the same picture, and all in glorious high-resolution generously provided by Eliott’s horny imagination.

“_Eliott,”_ he’d whisper in that breathy voice that travels straight to Eliott’s cock without pause or fail, “_I want you to wreck me. You know how I like it. You know I like it when it hurts a little bit. You know I love it when I finger myself open and edge myself after. But I know about you, too. I know you watch me. I know you think about me when you want to come so hard you see the fucking galaxy up your ceiling. I know you haven’t wanted anyone else in two months because of me.” _

He’s not popping a boner in class. He’s twenty-two, not a thirteen year-old jerking off into his GI Joe bedsheets and trying to wipe them off with a dirty sock before it crusts and his mom tsks him at him come laundry day. Whatever sexy monologue dream Lulu’s prepared should wait _after_ Eliott’s conquered six gruelling hours of class, please and thank you.

Lucky for Eliott, the universe seems to be listening. Sometimes, it really works in not-so-mysterious ways to bring him back to this particular plane of reality. And today, it just so happens to be in the form of his seatmate.

“Mind telling me what the fuck you’re staring at?”

Sander’s many things to Eliott: aforementioned seatmate, roommate since freshman year, fellow starving artist of the amateur photographer-cum-graffiti connoisseur kind, and Eliott’s human glowstick at parties (the bleached white hair basically equated to Eliott’s roommate GPS). And now, unapologetic piercer of Eliott’s dreamy bubble.

“You look like you’re about to simultaneously pass out and orgasm. Not really something I’m sure I’d like to see. Don’t get me wrong, though. You’re a good-looking dude. It would just totally ruin the good thing we have going on right now, y’know? And Robbe would probably murder me.”

If this is a dream, Sander definitely wouldn’t be in it, except maybe to provide the soundtrack to him and Lulu making out via an off-key rendition of David Bowie’s _Love Song. _

His pulse quickens enough to break speed limits. If he isn't dreaming nor is he in some sort of stress-induced hallucination - the full reality hits Eliott like a sledgehammer to the face. It’s the real fucking thing. It’s _him_.

“Fuck. No fucking way.”

“Thing is, Eli. Robbe may look all soft but I’m pretty sure he packs a mean right hook when provoked.”

“Not that.”

He knows he sounds way too calm for how he’s actually feeling. Hell, he’s surprised he isn’t freaking out like a headless chicken right now, though perhaps the fact that he’s _actually_ in class and just waiting for the Professor to show on the first day of the new semester helps.

He ducks his head so only Sander hears. “He’s here.”

Sander’s expression shifts from teasing to confused. “Who?”

“Lulu.” At Sander’s blank stare, he makes vague gestures to his phone. “You know, the guy. The one I spent almost a week’s worth of allowance on in… tips. The reason why I had to start doing Instagram commissions that one time because the advance for the boutique modelling gig hadn't come in yet and I’d already maxed out my account.”

He shudders at the memory. Drawing watercolor furries and digital fanart of kpop boyband members engaging in NSFW shenanigans for two weeks straight isn’t really the highlight of Eliott’s art career.

“Lu - oh. _Shit. _The love of your life.” And the wicked knowing smile is back with a vengeance, the one that makes Sander look like a demented Jack Frost. Eliott twitches in response. “The cam—“

“Fuck, don’t say it out loud!” Eliott shoves harder than necessary at Sander’s shoulder, an extremely unfortunate flush creeping up his neck at Sander’s stupid smirk.

He’s suddenly overcome with complete and sudden regret at allowing himself to get stoned with Sander way too many times than was probably advisable given his roommate’s tendency to tell Robbe _everything_. Granted, Robbe isn’t some tattle. But Eliott’s seen him in his less than dignified moments, too, and he’s definitely not above out of the blue ramblings given the opportunity. And when Robbe knows, then his best friend Noor wouldn’t be far behind. Next thing he knows, the entire campus is egging him on at the next party and telling him to _get that sweet ass, bro!_

He sighs. “No one knows what he looks like, okay?”

Sander raises a brow. “Then how come _you_ do? Wait, no. Don’t answer that. I don’t think I wanna know.”

He’s going to attempt to save his dignity with an appropriately timed comeback, but the professor entering the room beats him to it. All good, Eliott thinks, as he slumps in his seat. He takes a quick glance at Lulu and his posture looks serious, back straight and a notebook neatly positioned in front of him. His fingers, delicate-looking digits, grip a ballpoint pen with effortless grace and precision.

Like the time those same fingers circled around a bullet vibrator as he stretched himself. _“I get so needy when I touch myself and there’s nothing inside me_," he’d said then, a small moan tumbling from his lips. Eliott had sucked in air that didn’t seem to be reaching his lungs as he shoved a hand down his boxers. 

Maybe he feels Eliott staring holes into his head. As though he feels the figurative scrunched up ball hit the back of his neck, Lulu twists around quickly as the Professor drones on facing the whiteboard. His brows furrow together when he glances around the room. Eliott looks down his notes in a hurry, because _fuck. _Those cheeks curving inwards as he sucked around the end of his pen are just… Doing Things to Eliott.

Since it's the first day of a new semester, the universe takes pity on Eliott and class ends twenty minutes in. Eliott wordlessly accepts Sander passing him photocopies of the syllabus and the first few readings. He looks out in front and sees Lulu quietly gathering his things, smiling shyly at his seatmates when they wave goodbye.

“Oh _no_.” Sander does the double-duty of shoving his arms into his leather jacket faster than Eliott can say _Robbe’s outside the room already, isn’t he_ and annoying Eliott like the total asshat he could be. “I’d dare you to go up and actually talk to the guy, but knowing you’re probably thinking with your dick at this point, I’d say I don’t even have to.”

Eliott’s just sitting there minding his own business. But then Sander plants the idea and it takes root. So really, when asked, Sander’s all to blame for this one.

“Say I actually go for that dare,” Eliott says slowly. “What’s in it for me?”

Sander grins, eyes narrow with glee. “Eli, don’t play. I know you’d do it for half a joint. Hell, for a quarter of a joint even. You’re already thinking it.”

Lulu’s taken by surprise when a classmate claps him on the shoulder. His pen falls to the ground, the sound of clattering hard plastic echoing around the walls. 

Eliott sees the opportunity before Sander even mentions it, his feet almost having a mind of its own as it pulls his entire body down the steps. He stands in front of Lulu, not even daring to look at the other’s face before hurriedly crouching down. When he stands upright with the pen between his fingers, Lulu is staring at him, eyes a little wide behind his glasses. _Shit._

“Hi, you dropped this.” Inwardly he’s cheering for sounding smooth. For one, he’s managed not to sound like there's a frog trying to escape from his throat. Point for Eliott!

“Oh, uh, thanks.” That voice. Soft and a bit bashful, but clear and firm. Yep, it’s definitely Lulu.

He clears his throat. “I’m Eliott.”

He never thought he’d see the day when Lulu directs a dazzling smile up at him. Fuck, it’s a smile worth waiting his whole life for.

“Lucas. Nice to meet you.” Noticing Eliott not exactly moving or holding a hand out for him to shake, Lucas looks up, tilting his head in confusion. Up close, his face is luminescent, even magnetic; the name fits him to a tee. Lucas now looks adorably expectant and Eliott suppresses a squeal. “Uh, did you need something?”

The next few seconds literally go down as the worst few seconds in Eliott’s life. Is it mercury retrograde? Is it his planets and stars misaligning? Is it Sander standing a few feet away, exhaling a truly terrible-sounding mix of hearty guffaw and wheezing cough into his fist? No one will ever know. All Eliott knows is he immediately wants to get dragged away to another continent when he says—

“I - I love you!” The words spill before his dumbass brain catches up. He scrambles to clarify as luluhateslemons’s_ -_ _Lucas’s_ \- smile falters. Eliott suddenly longs for the sweet reprieve of the afterlife. “I mean, not _you_ specifically. Your shows. I’m a big fan. Uh.”

Lucas's mouth opens into a soft circle of surprise, the look dangerously close to the image that started the mess in the first place.

They met only two minutes ago, but those lips have claimed top billing in Eliott’s daydreams for about two months, maybe more. And saying he's a big fan is sort of an understatement. He even stays through the arguably mundane parts, like Lulu chatting up his audience about his day or answering questions like _what's your favourite food_ or _would you say you're a size queen or are you all about performance_. Nothing out of the ordinary. The questions are par for the course, judging by other camboy feeds.

What makes Lulu a little different is his 'Naked Feelings' portion at the start of his shows where he'd nonchalantly answer a semi-serious question, usually about love or dating or sex problems, while stripping. And his advice always made sense or even tugged at heartstrings, his chat box popping off with comments along the lines of _you're like a 52yo wise aunt in a 20yo sexy camboy body_. It should be corny or eyeroll-inducing. Instead, it's made him enormously popular, jumping to a #5 rank in less than a year on the site. Instead, Eliott finds it fascinating and so, _so_ fucking hot.

Lucas's camboy persona is whip-smart, sassy, and sexy as hell. But no one knows who he actually _is. _

He expects Lucas to stutter and flail about in embarrassment as blood floods his cheeks. It fits the picture he makes in front of him, the timid stance and rapidly blinking eyes, like he’s struggling to process what just happened. Eliott’s honestly not thinking when he said it. He has to grudgingly concede Sander's on to something when he says Eliott’s brain has migrated to his dick.

He’s ready to blurt out his apologies and never show his face again, when Lucas does something entirely out of left field to the picture Eliott’s been nursing in his mind for the last few minutes.

He cocks his hip to the side and honest-to-god _smirks_ up at Eliott. He leans forward into Eliott's space until they're almost chest to chest, dark lashes fanning ocean blue eyes. He pushes himself up on his heels, tipping his head back and moving close to Eliott's ear.

How is Eliott still breathing? 

“Thanks. Always great to meet a fan. I have to say, though. I’ve never met one in person since, well, no one's been able to guess before. And I bet none of them are as hot as you, anyway. Congrats on claiming one of my firsts,” Lucas whispers, and Eliott just about _explodes_ on the spot. He winks - fucking winks! - when he pulls back and smiles at Eliott’s dumbstruck, idiotic face like he knows exactly what he’s done to him.

“See you around, Eliott.”

Before Eliott has the luxury (or brainpower) to reply, Lucas is already walking away, a slight sway in his step. Eliott tries not to think of anything lame like _I think my heart just left in a backpack _or _Is it possible to meet your soulmate on boyfrs3x.com _because he's totally cool and articulate and stuff, being a former L student and all.

So. Maybe not the worst moment of Eliott's life, after all. 


	2. easy peasy lemon squeezy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this edition: Our intrepid hero Eliott stumbles into a twitter black hole (#ParisAfterDark whattup), finds out how to fit a cavendish banana inside your mouth sans ruining the fruit, and discovers the recreational benefits of watching a gorgeous boy with a vibe.

See, the thing is, it all starts simply enough.

Somehow, in between breaking up with Lucille and playing third wheel to Robbe and Sander’s get-together a few months back (after enduring Sander’s unsubtle pining and shameless whining on every social media platform imaginable), he’d discovered the hashtags #ThirstyParis and #ParisAfterDark on twitter.

Eliott loves love. He also loves sex, like any hot-blooded young man at his physical peak. To Eliott, romance and sex aren't ever mutually exclusive. Wining, dining, 69ing - all part of the journey.

Naturally, he explores the tag, sets up a twitter account to follow his favourites. He doesn’t do much on it, never actually posts or replies to anything. He just sort of hung out there, usually from the hours of 23h-03h, when the _dickfies_, bubble butt shots, and anonymous, poop-emojis-for-heads, 15-second fucking videos come out to play, posted in rapid succession for the horny hordes on twitter. Eliott likes to read the threads and benefit from the many bit.ly links that get tossed up in discussion. Some of the best anecdotes he’s ever read have been thanks to the conversations he’s found buried under a labyrinthian maze of subtweets and retweets.

Some are hilarious, making him snort into his pillow at ass o’clock in the morning. Like the one thread where one guy confessed to moaning accidentally while his Doctor poked around his intimate bits. _I PRAYED I WASN’T GONNA ORGASM WHILE GETTING A PROSTATE EXAM_, the user proclaimed, and Eliott saved the thread in his bookmarks. He’d come back to it every once in a while because it just made his day a little brighter to know that someone, somewhere out there, had almost come from a medical procedure straight out of alien abduction movies.

Some are weirdly sad, like the one where a sugar baby lost his sugardaddy to cancer. Eliott’s the first to admit he’s a bit of a sensitive soul. He feels his eyes getting just a little teary in the library as he read the lines _And I loved my Daddy like a flower loves the sun_. He couldn’t find it in himself to feel even the slightest bit of shame as Sander throws him a curious look and Robbe asks worriedly, “Eliott, what’s wrong?"

“My aunt just died. We were sort of close,” Eliott replies quickly, because that's infinitely better than explaining why you were crying to a twitter thread featuring sugar babies from all over the world consoling each other over lost daddies, to terminal illnesses or otherwise.

But let’s be real. Most were just plain hot. Like ‘jerk off discreetly into the sheets while your roommate snored like the dead’ kinda hot. In general, he’s not a big fan of porn, rather relying on his own imagination and a few good amateur pictures to get himself going. But fuck, some of the guys on twitter really knew how to get the blood pumping with a few well-timed groans and cleverly angled shots.

It’s no big deal. He comes once, rarely twice, then hits the sack. Wakes up and showers. Rolls his eyes at Robbe bringing Sander breakfast. Becomes endeared when Robbe apologizes for forgetting to bring _Eliott_ breakfast, as if he’s obligated to. Goes to classes. Does his projects. Goes to parties, brings a guy or girl back, shoots off a text to Sander asking if he could have the room for the night. Rinse and repeat.

It trends one time - just one time in his curated hashtags: _#ParisPassif_. It’s 3h, Eliott has nothing better to do and he hasn’t really found a show or video that piques his interest enough.

So he clicks on the tag, and he’s bombarded with a barrage of tweets, all with screenshots of a banana.

Specifically, a huge banana halfway inside pink lips. Eliott could immediately tell: from the sharp jut of his chin, angular jawline, and the almost unnoticeable stubble, the lips belonged to a guy. It's just the lower part of the guy’s face, the shot taken below the nose. A sliver of saliva slides down the corner of the guy’s O-shaped mouth; Eliott couldn’t tell if his (very, impossibly, supernaturally - was it filtered?) pink lips were straining to hold the banana in place.

It’s pretty standard stuff for this part of twitter. Eliott wonders what’s so unusual about it. He scrolls down further, scanning the comments.

> **@asstomec** kafhajkfk lulu has done it again ive never cum so hard in my life #PassifParis #ParisAfterDark
> 
> **@h0eboyherewecum** LULU deserves to be top fckIN 1 mfers @luluhateslemons #PassifParis #ParisAfterDark
> 
> **@sencreampie** my fav camboy @luluhateslemons made an instructional video and y’all bottoms in paris shld sit up and take note #PassifParis #ParisAfterDark
> 
> **@DADDYSNAKX** so proud of u @luluhateslemons!!! been following ur deepthroat struggles after all dat shit w the 10-inch dildo…… UR AN INSPIRATION #PassifParis #ParisAfterDark

Eliott blinks at the screen, because really? An _inspirational_ camboy with _deepthroat_ struggles?

He clicks on _@luluhateslemons_, curiosity getting the better of him.

It’s a #ParisAfterDark profile, alright. From just a few tweets, Eliott’s already grinning because the guy’s all sorts of funny, his humor a mix of raunchy, self-deprecating, and on the pulse of whatever thirsty trend was gripping that part of twitter on any given day. The guy sounds off to the tune of thousands of followers, and Eliott wonders why he’s never come across the profile before. It’s the kind of feed Eliott will bookmark, maybe even follow on his secret twitter account, the kind he’ll scroll through when he’s deathly bored or mildly horny.

But it’s not the tweets that compel him to click on the link in Lulu’s bio. If he’s being entirely honest, it’s the lips that does him in. Eliott switches tabs, finger hovering on the trackpad with the cursor sitting above the screenshot. A familiar sizzle of heat rolls down his spine as he stares at slightly parted lips. He licks at his own lips, the inside of his mouth already starting to dry, tongue like sandpaper behind his teeth. 

It’s a bit of a tango to get to the actual site: a lot of link jumping and dancing through hoops. When he finally gets to Lulu’s _boyfrs3x.com_ profile, he sees that he’s missed the show entirely, not even catching the tail-end. But the video’s already up on the feed, succinctly titled, _DEEPTHROATING A CAVENDISH BANANA W/O RUINING THE FRUIT!!!_.

Clickbaity but effective, he thinks. Even though it isn’t live, the reupload could be watched for a price. At this point, he’s just been paid for a gig, so he doesn’t think twice before entering his Paypal details and clicking on the link.

The stream runs a little slow at first, crackly and pixelated. Eliott sends a mental plea up to the whatever deity decided to listen in on the horny prayers of depraved twenty-somethings for his wifi to pick up the pace. He needs to _see_ those goddamned lips.

Eliott huffs, reloading the page one more time.

And then—

“Hey, hoes and pervs! Hope everyone’s having an awesome day,” the boy on the screen says, cheerily. His head’s cut off by the frame, his mouth stretched into a smile as he greets the camera. When he tilts his down just a bit, the edge of a navy blue snapback comes into view. He’s sitting atop blue striped comforters in tight black briefs that leave practically nothing to the imagination. Eliott and countless others can see the soft, bare skin of his torso, moles over his unblemished shoulders and collarbones, and the hard edge of muscles trailing down his stomach.

There’s a chatbox underneath the window displaying the boy, but Eliott doesn't spare a glance at the messages. Every single morsel of his attention is fixed on Lulu.

“Guys, I’m reading all your comments first. Thank you! Everyone’s too nice to little ol’ me. Hey there, asssuckerz11! Yeah, I’ll be taking requests again and am resuming Naked Feelings next week. I know you guys loved the dildo last week. That one was amazing, I agree. Maybe I’ll pull that one out of the box again if enough of you thirsty bastards want it.” He laughs softly. Eliott has never heard a freakin’ chuckle that’s turned him on more. He adds, “As for Naked Feelings… sometimes it’s nice to take a break from being #GuLu. One of these days I’ll probably cry while jerking off because of your questions. I know some of you would love that, though, don’t lie.”

Eliott hasn’t noticed before, but Lulu’s now looking at a tablet, probably scrolling the comments that popped up with every passing second. Lulu’s volume must be up high because Eliott can hear the notification tone of viewers and messages entering the stream going off like a machine gun in the background.

He continues, lower lip out in a petulant-looking pout, “Anyway, this day wasn’t the best so this is the first time today I’m relaxing. I’ve just transferred Universities, right? I mean, it’s my dream school and all, because I’ve always wanted to be in a this particular track. But it’s just been so busy, y’know? Anyway, I was thinking — I’ve conquered this part of my life, meaning school. And I want to conquer something else. I think my regulars know what that is.”

He reaches behind him and pulls out an abnormally large cavendish banana, and Eliott’s eyes bug out for a moment. _Is he gonna put that in his ass,_ he thinks, before remembering the twitter comments. Instructional videos. Deepthroat problems. Yeah, okay. _Fuck._

Lulu holds the banana up to the camera, laughing as he places his palm behind it like a beauty youtuber showing a makeup product. Suddenly, he’s shucking off his briefs, lean fingers wrapping around an almost fully hard cock. His cock is average-sized, not unlike some of his hook-ups. But it’s thick and leaking pre-come and oh so beautiful; it bobs between his legs, flushed an angry red, and Eliott watches as a pearl of precome beads up and drips on the sheets.

Lulu proceeds to tease himself like he’s been doing this for a long time — and he has, Eliott just knows he has — palm running low over his groin as he rubs himself, hips lifting up into the press of his own hand.

“Mm yeah, I just love touching myself with a cock in my mouth. It’s the best feeling. It’s that or a dick in my ass and in my mouth,” he says, voice turning breathy midway as strokes himself a little faster.

Eliott’s mouth waters. He hasn’t even realized his hands wandering lower, smoothing his hand over his leg and down the inside of thigh, squeezing the flesh. He’s already hard, straining behind his sweats, and he thumbs over the outline of his head, jerking into the touch. This boy — Lulu — for whatever reason, works him up like nobody else.

“Let’s see if I can manage to deepthroat today. You all know how much I’ve struggled. I know, dicklover96, I wish I didn’t have a gag reflex, too. Though I’ve never heard any of my exes complain. Well, I’ve only had two and they lasted for six months tops between the two of them. I wouldn't call it real relationships, more like three-month stands? Still, blowjobs were given and blowjobs were had."

For the first time, Eliott wonders what it would be like to actually _be_ with a camboy at the same time as he’s filming. To touch him. Usually when he jerks off it’s pretty impersonal, his mind tending to wander off as he focused on the sensation. Now, all he could see is Lulu’s body, his perfect cock.

"Sometimes there’s no replacing an actual dick instead of a silicone one. Even the dildos with like, built-in come aren’t the same,” Lulu says with a mournful sigh, circling over himself. His head tips back and the long, pale stretch of neck shines under the lighting.

Eliott wonders what it would be like to run a finger over the soft skin, maybe even kiss it. Would Lulu moan and shiver, if Eliott sucked and bit and bruised the pretty skin up between his teeth?

His eyes flicker to the number on the lower right side of the screen, the number changing every few seconds. _6,328_. That’s exactly how many people were thinking the exact same thing. Maybe even thinking about it until now, even when the show has ended.

When he glances back, the banana hovers at the tip of Lulu’s lower lip.

“Here goes. I’m imagining this to be the biggest, fruitiest cock ever, guys,” Lulu says, sucking in an airy gasp, and swallows.

Eliott sucks in a breath, imagining it’s _his_ dick burying into Lulu’s wet, warm, and waiting mouth, imaging Lulu choking on a breathless, broken, barely intelligible whisper of _mmmm, El — Eli — ooeughh_ around him. 

Needless to say, Lulu accomplishes the task at hand with aplomb. If there’s an Oscar for camboy streams, and if the jury’s parameters are ‘how many times people in the comments say they’re shooting their load just from watching a camboy blow a phallic fruit,’ this award-winning performance would be it. Give this guy all the laurels and more.

“Lots of practice,” Lulu declares happily, thrusting the shiny, saliva-coated, perfectly intact banana onto the camera, his cheeks flushed and ruddy. His mouth, chin, and neck are damp with drool.

Eliott comes twice in thick pulses, likes that's what does it for him more than anything else. The image of Lulu's lips, so red and swollen they look kiss-bitten.

This has never happened before with anyone he’s watched onscreen. The guy is practically a 3D fantasy. High-resolution, yeah. But still a fantasy. Eliott can reach out and touch nothing but the hard plastic of his laptop.

He doesn’t think twice before subscribing.

Yes, with notifications turned on.

After getting hooked on Lulu’s stream, he’s brought back someone to the dorm a grand total of twice. Each time it wouldn’t go further than making out, his partners commenting (one with disinterested apathy, the other with self-righteous indignation) that he didn’t seem into it.

And they’re all right, considering how the whole time they were making out, Eliott’s mind would do really unfortunate things like wonder what would it feel like if he and Lulu made out. He doesn’t care if his dubious reputation as an always-down-for-a-good-time party stud would be sullied. Somewhere along the way, these thoughts became less unfortunate and more _please, some supernatural force, some Higher Being out there, put me out of this wretched obsession of wanting Lulu to make out when I’m making out with literally anybody else_.

.

After their little encounter in the classrom, Eliott’s swept up into a giddy adrenaline rush for all of five minutes… before it all abruptly comes crashing down as he realizes Lulu — Lucas — may just be fucking with him. He might, in fact, never want Eliott to approach again. When he said ‘see you around,’ he probably meant ‘see you online.’

Besides, telling a guy who’s basically in a long-term and very public relationship with sex toys that he was his biggest fan probably isn’t going down as one of Eliott’s best moments.

His dignity’s reached its lowest point in a two-month period of scraping the bottom of the barrel. The Marianas Trench of hoe-dom, if you will.

“I’m an idiot,” he says that night, a few days after being blessed with the once-in-a-lifetime privilege of seeing Lucas in the flesh. He looks better than he ever could have imagined. It’s kinda sorta maybe driving Eliott all sorts of nuts because, _what the fuck_. Were headless camboys supposed to actually look that good in person?

See, from being an avid watcher of amateur twitter porn clips, Eliott’s mentally categorized them into two brackets: there were the lollipops, and then there were the shrimps. Lollipops were the brave ones who showed their faces and brief glimpses of their bodies. Most of the time the bodies are — fine. Perfectly serviceable. Eliott’s sure there’s a market for their bodies somewhere. But the currency of most twitter porn (not to mention all the dating and hookup apps) were great bodies, and that’s where the shrimps came in. Headless and showing themselves only from the mouth down, sometimes even from the waist down. The ones with eight-packs and glorious-looking cocks or squeezable asses. You’d never know if they looked like some unholy Lovecraftian horror in the face; you could paste any head onto their bodies — hence, shrimps.

But Lucas is neither. At the risk of sounding cliche, Lucas is the whole damn course: the hearty breakfast, the filling lunch, the scrumptious dinner, and the oh so delicious dessert in between. 

“That you are, my friend,” Sander agrees around the pizza roll stuffed into his mouth. He pushes his cold toes against Eliott's bare feet on the dining table they’d propped their legs up on. Just a typical Friday night. “Just say you’re grudgingly impressed he’d even admitted to being Lulu. If that was me I’d have hightailed outta there. Guy’s got balls, I’ll give him that.”

“Not just that,” Eliott reminds him, sloshing his beer around the bottle, his first and only drink for the night. While he'd love to get totally hammered, he's trying to avoid two things: fucking up his meds and slipping into an episode, and getting loose-lipped enough to say anything incriminating about his... preferred method of stress relief. Sander already knows way too much as it is. “He said I was _hot_. What do you think that means?”

Sander sighs, setting his feet back down, and leaning forward. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know.” Eliott sets the beer down, wringing his hands. Sander reaches over and rubs his back like he's soothing at best, a lost child, or at worst, a misbehaving horse. “Maybe it’s one of those moments where you don’t know what to say to the guy who picks up your pen and you just… brainfart to get outta there.”

Sander gives him a _look_. “You’ve gotta be shitting me. That guy’s obviously into you. You gotta shoot your shot again, man. Hey, maybe he’d even…”

“What?”

“Fuck you on-cam.“ Sander goes on like he’s talking about the weather. The nonchalance is ruined when he smirks devilishly, eyebrows waggling. “I never forgot your little confession that one time we were high.”

If Eliott occasionally finds it tempting to slip back into old drinking or smoking habits, Sander's propensity to resuscitate embarrassing tidbits and drag it kicking and screaming into the open is argument enough against it. 

So Eliott sputters, “It was _one_ time, you even said it yourself!”

Because it is. He’d told Sander a few weeks after earning his degree in Lulu-watching that he’d fantasized about being the first actual guy to be fucked on-cam by Lulu. Seeing Lucas’s previous videos, it would be a milestone in his camboy life. Eliott himself, playing the dual roles of merry recipient and generous giver in said milestone, could be wearing a sack or a garbage bag on his head for all he cared. All he wanted was to fuck and be fucked. And the thought of thousands of strangers watching is a major turn-on he’s been nursing in his head for a while. 

He’d requested it one time on the chatbox, and it had been the only time Lucas had mentioned him by name: _”Oh, raton_laveur’s a multipurpose queen. That’s power bottom-speak for vers, hoes. Yeah, I don’t mind topping, though I’ve only tried it twice with my exes? I’d say I’m 60/40 in favor of bottoming because. Guys. The male g-spot? It’s hella real, and there’s so much power in being a bottom. But sexual politics aside, as long as you promise to fuck me after, fast and rough like how I like it, and I’ll take care you just how you want it, baby,"_ he says while idly toying with one of his many colourful dildos, and Eliott’s pretty sure he’s winking even though no one could see it.

Sander shrugs, leaning back into his seat. “Suit yourself. You can, I dunno, maybe request for something more realistic.”

Eliott purses his lips. “Like?”

“Fuck if I know. Uh, fisting?”

Eliott chokes on nothing. “The hell, dude. Even legit pornstars find it hard to do that kinda thing. I don’t see how on earth I can request that and _not_ be told to fuck off.”

“I thought you wanted to see him open up?” And Sander isn’t talking about emotionally opening up, is he.

Heat creeps up his neck as his traitorous memory bank dredges up _other_ things he had the misfortune of mentioning to Sander. “Yeah, but not like _that_.”

Sander hums thoughtfully, looking up at the ceiling. “I saw him earlier, too, you know. He has tiny hands, I’m sure he could—“

_”Sander,_” Eliott warns, not even a second after Sander mentions it. Then the thought comes to him, unbidden, if Sander has tried fisting with Robbe — sweet, innocent, poster boy for vanilla sex Robbe.

But then again, if _Sander_ got to him, then maybe Eliott’s underestimated just how much kink Robbe has stored up in that small, wiry body?

He shudders. Thinking about his roommate’s sex life somehow feels more wrong than words 'fisting' and 'Lucas' in the same sentence.

.

Robbe saves him yet again from Sander’s drunken tirades when he picks him up two hours later. When they met, Eliott’s unclear if he wanted to befriend him, or date him, or do a moonlight flit for a whirlwind year of backpacking and flamenco dancing before getting married on the Mediterranean coast. Notoriously shy, Eliott soon discovers he's armed with persistent, earnest sweetness, the kind whose sincerity suckerpunched you out of nowhere. God, Eliott loves him. He'd honestly be perfect if only he didn't walk around with perpetual gross little hearts in his eyes whenever Sander so much as blinked. 

“THIS IS AN ACT OF HOMOPHOBIA AND PANPHOBIA,” Sander laments when Robbe interrupts him in the middle of his rant about queerbaiting in _Sherlock_ and other Steven Moffat-helmed media. Eliott wishes Sander hadn’t discovered the subreddit dedicated to calling out these things.

“Make him stop,” Eliott pleads, feeling a headache brewing in his temples. 

“THIS IS A HATE CRIME,” Sander says.

“… He went from talking about the architectural parallels between anal beads and Dutch buildings, to David Bowie conspiracy theories, to whatever this is. Please, Robbe. Just. Shut him up.”

Robbe mouths _sorry_ to Eliott and laughs behind his fist. 

Eliott sighs and waves him off, because Robbe, by virtue of being Robbe, is automatically granted amnesty. By extension, he’s grudgingly fond of Sander, whose sharp edges soften and unfurl under Robbe's attention like metal under slow, boiling heat.

“Well, we’re off. We still have to do his film assignment. Can’t believe this one forgot it’s due on Monday,” Robbe says, lightly.

Not that it works. Robbe is many admirable things, but he isn't a good liar. Eliott knows it’s code for _we’re gonna fuck._ How the hell would Sander function with a camera when he’s practically tripping over his own feet and screaming like an idiot into Robbe’s waiting arms when he greets him at the door?

Once he’s left alone in the dorm, he pads over to his side of their shared bedroom, shirtless and in loose sweats. His phone buzzes with a notification that Lucas has started one of his biweekly streams, and Eliott thinks, _yeah,_ _I should send Robbe a thank-you fruit basket_ because now no one's around to witness Eliott jump and make the transition from half-asleep to keyed up and thrumming in under five seconds. 

To be crude about it, even the simple ping makes his cock jump in interest. Yup, Eliott’s totally whipped for a guy whose face he’d only seen a few days prior and he’s already too invested in watching the streams to do any sort of critical thinking about it. 

But god, what a _face_ it was.

He clicks on the link, stomach fluttering involuntarily as he pulls up his laptop and settles against his pillows, getting comfortable.

“Hey hoes and pervs,” Lucas greets. His eyes are out of frame, like they usually are, but his lips are stretched into a smile, and his snapback peeks just above the tip of his nose. His arms are braced behind him as he sits cross-legged on his bed. Today, he’s wearing an oversized loose cream sweater, hanging off one shoulder, and a pair of simple blue boxers.

If Eliott has any doubt that _luluhateslemons_ is really Lucas, the mole on his right collarbone confirms it. It’s a beauty mark that’s not easy to forget. And of course, that voice — at times soft and gentle like he’s crooning, long and sweet, gently easing his audience into a chill, slow glide of wet hands on hard shafts. Sometimes teasing and seductive, the kind where Eliott would hurriedly palm himself to the tune of _oh, right there, fuck yes, you’ve hit the spot._ Then finally, devious and diabolical, as he listens to Lucas edge himself until nearly everyone in the chatbox is yelling desperately at him — in bold and all-caps — to make himself come. Lucas enjoys delaying his and everyone’s gratification; ”_No, no, not yet, patience is a virtue even in fucking, my love,_” Lucas pants at an invisible lover, and Eliott would hiss ‘this little shit’ between gritted teeth.

“So today, I have two things for you guys before we get to the part you’re all waiting for,” he says, laughing to himself as he reads the comments. “But hey, thanks. it’s nice to know you’re all coming here - pun intended - for more than just my ass. Anyway, our Naked Feelings for today is brought to you by twitter user @thiccq2ie. He asks: _Lulu, we all know you’re taking up a degree related to science. What is your favourite scientific concept? Also, can you get a bad stomach ache from swallowing too much cum? I love you so much and I think you have the perkiest ass ever_ — aaw, so sweet. Thank you, babe! Sending kisses - with lots of tongue - wherever you are in the world.”

Eliott knows he’s a goner for Lucas when the guy hasn’t even taken his clothes off yet but he’s already tenting in his sweats, hardand aching with it. Just from the image of Lucas’s gorgeous face and the memory of his taunting voice, etched into his mind. And now before him is Lucas’s body, tantalizing in its haphazardly covered-up state, looking so impossibly good onscreen.

Now that he’s seen just how utterly beautiful Lucas really is, from the top of his head to the tips of his feet, the mystery puzzle that’s lingered in Eliott mind is now complete.

“So, can you get an upset stomach from swallowing too much come? I’m not a doctor so please feel free to roast me in the chatbox on this one. But I do read up a lot on sex and anything topically adjacent. Dear @thiccq2pie, semen — or as we refer to it around these parts, man juice — is made up of harmless nutrients, stuff that we all eat everyday like fructose and potassium. Not enough to be a meal replacement for that protein shake, but you get it. Even if you get that jizz on the daily, it’s neither supposed to be nutritional nor is it bad for you. If you get a stomach ache, it might be from something else, like an infection _before_ you swallow…”

As Lucas talks, casual and easy, he starts pulling up his sweater. By the time he’s reached the end of his little sex lecture, he’s already topless, nipples peaking. He trails his fingers down his chest where they dipped into the top of his boxers. His other hand goes to his nipples, teasing the nub with the pads of his fingers in circular motion.

“And as for my favourite scientific concept? That’s easy. The law of thermodynamics, because of the idea that nothing ever truly leaves us. It’s just transformed into something else. This applies to everything in life… our past, our memories, our experiences. They all make us who we are.”

Eliott’s hands pause on their path to the inside of his sweats, because that’s just profound as fuck.

The chatbox flares to life once more, a stream of pleas and praises. Of people telling Lucas his thoughts are as _deep as your deepthroating skills _(recently acquired, Lucas quips), of people hot and straining and begging to come, but only when Lucas does, too. Comments flood in requesting both simple things -- play with your balls, finger yourself, jerk off — and dirtier things, specific things like calls for toys or to show new trinkets and tricks he has up his sleeve.

Lucas tries to suppress a giggle when he reads. “Yeah, alright, alright. Geez, you guys are fucking eager tonight. We’re getting there. We’re gonna come, okay. Patience.” There’s his favourite virtue again.

Eliott has the sneaking suspicion Lucas drags it out like this so that the longer the stream took, the more viewers spent on him. And honestly, it’s probably working as his viewcount goes up every few seconds, especially that the _actual_ show’s getting started.

“To start today’s show, let’s do a bit of storytime…” Eliott’s eyes travel down, following the flex of Lucas’s arm to see he’s started palming himself over his boxers. He grips around his shaft with a soft _oh_. “I had this… incident earlier. Sorry, not incident - that makes it sound alarming. It’s just something I’ve been thinking about all day. There was this… guy. Ah, _hah_, no, sadoMECsichism — great name, by the way — I don’t know this guy. Not even as an acquaintance, and definitely not a friend. Just… I dunno. Thinking about him makes me wanna use the new vibe. Yeah, the one I’ve been holding off on trying until the mood struck.”

Lucas reaches into his box of toys, pulling out a bottle of lube, deftly clicking open the cap and slicking up his fingers. He finally shrugs off his boxers off elegantly — or as elegantly as he could with his cock already visibly hard — then props his knees up and spreads his legs wide, scooting closer to the edge of the bed so his viewers could get a good view of his cock and ass. Flushed a pretty pink, it twitches when he rubs the first lubed up finger up against his hole, teasing a little before he pushes inside.

God, what Eliott would do to get his mouth on it.

“Shit, you guys — wanted to finger myself in the shower,” Lucas moans, and Eliott decides that it’s time to pull his own dick out of his pants. There’s already a wet spot on his briefs, a moan tumbling from his lips when his fingers finally wrap around his rock hard cock. “But — fuck, I know you all love it when I do this on-cam.”

Here’s the peculiar part: Lucas is never quiet in his streams. He always exaggerates how good it all feels. It must be part of the whole gig, because this _is_ performance, even if the pleasure at the act’s very core is as real as it gets. He pants like he’s run a marathon, moans like a wicked beast is pounding into him, and screams all manner of obscenities into the air.

But today, Lucas is quiet. He keeps adding more fingers and soon, he’s fucking himself on three then settles on two to work himself open with steady, measured thrusts. His free hand brushes over a nipple - his back arcs, just a little, chasing the stray of his fingers as they skim down his stomach. His head’s tipped back judging by the jut of his chin, like he’s savouring the feeling. Or trying his damndest to imagine something. Or _someone_.

“Feels so good. You feel so good,” Lucas whispers, so soft that the mic almost doesn’t pick it up. Those few words — you feel so good, _you_ feel so good — travel straight to Eliott's cock and he bites back a groan, knocking his head back against the head-rest and squeezing his eyes closed.

“Mmm, guys — we gotta stop or I’m gonna come soon,” Lucas hums, sucks in an airy gasp. “And I — I haven’t even gotten to the new vibe yet.”

Eliott opens his eyes to see Lucas hastily rearranging the camera so that he could lie down face-first on the bed, his hair sticking up in dishevelled tufts at the back of his head. Eliott’s mind decides to flash back to Lucas’s look earlier in the day, his hair a wild mess as he looked up at Eliott with bright sea blue eyes.

Lucas in the stream is panting, and the Lucas in his mind moans breathlessly, whispering _Eliott, f-fuck, Eli - ohhhh_.

“I — I’ll use the vibe now.” Lucas sounds wrecked even though he hasn’t been up to his usual antics of yelling wantonly at the camera.

Eliott’s fantasy dissolves, leaving him with Lucas onscreen, who’s picked up the vibrator without Eliott noticing. Even with his face hidden from view, Eliott knows he looks _good_, his eyes blown wide and shining, a fine film of sweat sticking stray strands across his forehead.

“Ugh, ahmm—“ Lucas gasps, pressing the vibrator inside him bit by bit, dropping his head down into the mattress as he slowly but steadily pushes the vibrator into his stretched hole until it’s all the way to the hilt. He turns on the vibrations to the moderate setting.

“I’m so — god, I need the real thing right now. You guys don’t even know. But _oohh_, this thing’s really working me up. Not - a bad - substitute.”

Maybe it’s because Lucas confesses to needing actual cock, but he’s getting louder now, moans rising in pitch and intensity, interspersed with cussing every few seconds. He spreads his thighs wider as he begins to move the toy faster, fucking into himself at a frenzied pace. Though he’s watched Lucas for a while now, Eliott’s still surprised by how flexible Lucas really is. One of his favourite shows features Lucas doing the splits while fingering himself open at a leisurely pace; Eliott remembers nearly passing out from the force of his orgasm that time.

And then Lucas pulls the vibrator out, flipping himself over, and he’s coming, back arching beautifully. He slumps against the bed as spurts of come hit his abs and chest. His face is pink, glazed, and—

Eliott curls forward, breathless, chasing it. Suddenly, he’s coming, too, a loud moan ripping from his throat as he soils the comforter with ropes of hot, sticky come.

When Eliott catches his breath (his muscles basically feel liquified), he sees Lucas’s finger swirling through the pool of come on his stomach. Eliott’s a little horrified to discover himself growing embarrassingly hard again _really_ fast as Lucas brings his hand to his mouth, lapping at his fingertips.

Against his better judgment, Eliott types into the chatbox: _did u cum from the vibe or from the guy_

Lucas wipes his hand on a spare tissue that’s magically appeared next to him. He tilts his head towards his tablet and breaks into a lazy, satisfied smile, a canary who just straight up devoured his cream. 

“Hi, raton_laveur. The vibe’s good, but the guy’s even better. Now I’m a little sad. I wish he was here. I bet he can fuck me so good.” He leans forward, and Eliott sees the come on the corner of his mouth. “So, hey there. If you’re watching. I hope you liked the show. And — I hope you pick up more than just my pen next time.”

The screen cuts to black. Eliott's flinch of shock gets drowned out by the throb of his inner voice screaming _'oh my fucking god'._

And just like that, Eliott’s left with a boner - his third of the night, a new personal record - hard enough to rival diamonds. 


	3. sweet and sour, drink of the hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this edition: Eliott and Lucas almost make out (altogether now: thank you, Arthur), Sander is really into geography, and Lucas would maybe like to stop fucking proxy dicks sometime soon.

Eliott isn’t saying it’s easier to be out cold than to suffer through Sander’s stupid snort-guffaws, but kind of, yeah, he’s saying that. Currently, it’s taking Eliott three restarts and six interruptions to tell the whole story. 

Sander tips half a beer can into his shirt collar instead of his mouth the second Eliott yells in distress, “HE GAVE ME A SHOUTOUT AND I FREAKED OUT.” Robbe is trying (and miserably failing) to hide his convulsing laughter, face buried in his arm and shoulders shaking. Eliott fishes out weeks-old peppermint candy from his back pocket and feels no remorse when it smacks Sander square in the eye. 

“Well, I may have heard from a little bird or two that he’s going to the party,” Sander says cryptically (wheezes, actually, but Eliott’s feeling generous tonight) once both he and Robbe have significantly calmed down. Said generosity ebbs when mischief bleeds from Sander’s tone in excess. “Who knows, you might run into your boy there.” 

Eliott skids to a stop in front of the very same door where said rager was currently ongoing, turning to look Sander in the eyes, expression a mix of suspicious and totally unimpressed. “And you only thought to mention this now?” 

Before Sander could answer, Robbe sidles up to Eliott and tugs at his arm, putting his most charming face on. Eliott sometimes forgets how disarmingly mild Robbe appears up close, angular yet tender, features rounded by a placid brow. Not gonna lie, he’s kind of a sucker for that face. Is it really Eliott’s fault though if god blessed Robbe with twinkling eyes and cursed Eliott with a resolve that more closely resembled a sad sack of dough than unshakeable steel?

“Let’s go inside, yeah? I definitely wanna grab some more drinks and go near the booth. Noor said they got this Tiktok-famous DJ from Amsterdam to play tonight, and they only had to kinda sorta bribe him with a date. With Jens! You know Jens, right, my best—” 

Robbe rambles as he leads Eliott through a throng of bodies crowding around the entrance, Sander following close behind. They narrowly avoid a group of guys hefting over their heads two handles of strawberry vodka. Eliott then remembers Robbe’s already two beers and two shots deep after their little pre-game back at their apartment. He latches a firm hand onto Robbe’ shoulder to secure him from toppling off onto some unsuspecting partygoers. He’d really rather not have Sander on his ass tonight in case some overenthusiastic twerkers decide to grind up on his lightweight of a boyfriend.

In the dark, Eliott can see two figures coming up to them. Eliott vaguely places their faces as two out of three guys Lucas regularly hung out with after class. Staggering towards Eliott is a bespectacled blond with a feline stare and cheshire grin, like he knew something you didn’t and was always one step ahead; and the other one with a steadier walk is a handsome, dark-skinned boy that Eliott recalled seemed oddly protective of Lucas, squeezing his shoulders, sheltering him away from the prying gaze of the world.

Not that he’s stalking Lucas after class or anything! He just so happened to follow a few paces behind after class once or twice is all. Right. 

“For the newcomers!” Blondie proclaims, handing Eliott a solo cup. Dark and Handsome hands Sander and Robbe their own cups, gesturing at them both to look at something over their heads. “You guys are some of the last to get here so you have to drink this shit before you enter.” 

Eliott knocks the entire drink back in one swallow. His eyes pinch closed. It’s pretty strong, tasting like vodka, red bull, and something awful like Gatorade. Almost immediately, a jolt of adrenaline travels through his limbs followed by the distinct feeling of his belly filling with fire. 

When he opens his eyes, Sander and Robbe are nowhere to be found and he’s left with Blondie. From the looks of it, he’s in some no man’s land between ‘pleasantly tipsy’ and ’totally wasted’ if the colour of his cheeks and his ridiculous face-splitting grin is anything to go by. He stares unashamed at Eliott, tilting his head back and forth like ticking clock hands, inspecting Eliott’s face from all angles. 

“Do you maybe wanna take a photo or?” Eliott says - or shouts, rather. He’s used to knowing the crowd and greeting old flames, but ever since, well, Lucas, every flirty smile and curious glance aimed his way makes him want to cover his face with his hands. He’s hooked up with reedy blond boys before, but Blondie here doesn’t ring any bells. 

A split-second later, Blondie registers something like recognition, glasses sliding halfway down his nose bridge.

“Heeeey,” he stretches the syllables, speaking slowly but overloud, “aren’t you Es-Pee-Gee?”

“... What?” 

“Hello? Sexy Pen Guy? Duh. Acronyms, man. What was that name again?”

“Sexy what now?! “

Blondie snaps his fingers, trying to spark his memory. “Nico? David? No, it was definitely an E name. Is it… Oh! Even?”

Eliott scowls. His ears are starting to hurt. “I think you’ve got the wrong guy!” 

“No way. I know I’m definitely right! I’m always right, dude! I think - wait here. Yes, right there.” He wags an unsteady imploring finger at Eliott. “Don’t move! I’ll be back in like, two seconds.” 

Eliott goes above and beyond the instruction, standing on the same spot for precisely ten seconds. Then gives up since, fuck, his mouth’s beginning to taste like a carcass. What the hell was in that drink? 

He’s already halfway turned towards the direction of the kitchen to wash the aftertaste down when someone taps his wrist.

Eliott jumps. Then stares, jaw slack, and it takes Lucas giggling before he snaps out of it. Unlike ‘pleasantly floating on ambiguously tipsy’ Blondie, Lucas is knee-deep in the valley of smashed. He reeks of vodka, sluggishly leaning off Blondie’s shoulder, who’d obviously dragged Lucas to where Eliott’s currently frozen in place. His neck is flushed, splotchy pink disappearing into the collar of his black v-neck. His mole peeks out just the tiniest bit. 

“Hi,” Lucas says, long lashes fluttering over an unfocused gaze. His watery smile makes Eliott want to conquer cities and name them _Lucastown_ or _LuluLand _for snappy alliteration purposes. Whichever he’s allowed to use, if he doesn’t die first from his pulse pounding like a siren. “You’re here. I didn’t real - really believe Arthur when he said Sex - Sexy Guy - Sexy Pen Guy was here, but what do y’know! Sometimes my friends aren’t total disappointments after all!” 

“See, what did I tell you, Lulu.” Blondie - Arthur - makes stabby motions at Lucas’s side, and Eliott squashes the little bug of jealousy threatening to leave its nasty slime all over his insides. He not-so-subtly jerks a thumb in Eliott’s direction. “Good thing _someone_ thought of actually hauling your ass down to this party or else you’d never have talked to Tall and Hunky over here ever again. God knows _you_ weren’t gonna do it in your next class.”

Lucas nods, all dopey smile and sweet bottomless blue eyes. He has a peculiar kind of sway in his step as he regards Eliott with hazy but blatant appreciation. “Oooh, Tuturo. Aren’t you clever. Tall and Hunky, I like that. Better than SPG. He’s really tall, isn’t he. And _super_ hunky, too. Totally agree.” 

“Uhh.” Eliott takes this opportunity to remind them of his existence. Sure, he welcomes compliments at any time, especially if they’re from Lucas. But he’s not sure if he wants the other guy around for that. “So, I’m still here?”

“Listen.” Arthur claps him on the shoulder, hard enough to hurt. He leans in close enough to whisper-shout in Eliott’s ear, pointing at Lucas all the while. “He was _really_ bummed when you didn’t talk to him again after that class you have together. By now it’s been what? Four or five classes since? And he’s _still_ not over you picking up his stupid pen. It’s all he ever talks about these days and we’re all kinda over it.”

Eliott blinks. “Are you—” 

“Bas is convinced you’re some kinda figment of our collective imagination, like a hot and horny pen-plucking poltergeist, know what I mean? And Yann’s tearing his hair out because he keeps telling Lucas, _how are you able to stand when you’re so freakin’ spineless. _And it’s funny ‘cos Lulu literally bares it all ‘cept for the face. That takes guts. _Guts! _But now I’m worried Yann’s gonna go bald before thirty, think about that!”

“Err—”

“Lucas is really good at being annoyingly stubborn — ‘cos he somehow convinced himself you didn’t flirt with him on purpose and that’s kinda impossible because he knows you watch his shows — but he’s being extra thirsty these days and it’s driving us all nuts!” 

“_Extra thirsty?” _Lucas chooses that moment to interject with a screech, weakly slapping Arthur’s arm. “Stop exposing me in front of Eliott, asshole!” 

“Eliott! That’s the name I was looking for! And please, like you haven’t _exposed_ yourself to thousands of horny fans worldwide…”

“That’s different. They haven’t actually seen me!” Lucas defends, gesturing at his own face. Lucas must know he looks particularly pretty like this, when genuine embarrassment and shy giddiness paint his face into an even more beautiful picture. He must know he’s got Eliott sweating under the collar.

The shot he’d chugged is… maybe stronger than he thought, because it all feels so surreal. Lucas standing like this in front of Eliott, pouting and huffing. Lucas remembering his name. Lucas looking like he’s about to faint and/or die. And honestly? Eliott can relate.

After a hot second, it all sinks in and a similar hot flush floods Eliott’s face. Lucas’s own words drift through his mind: _I hope you pick up more than my pen next time. _

Eliott’s so distracted with his hamster wheel of never-ending thoughts that he doesn’t notice Arthur deliberately pushing Lucas to crash head first into Eliott’s chest. On the short journey into Eliott’s personal space, Lucas almost trips over his own feet, but Eliott yanks him by the forearm to keep him from wiping the fuck out on the floor. And then it ends up with Lucas stumbling into his arms, Lucas’s hand grabbing for the hem of Eliott’s shirt for stability. 

“Oh shit, that was - so close,” Lucas murmurs breathlessly. Like a film in slow motion, Lucas looks up. Eliott feels his pulse thundering so hard it almost hurts when Lucas’s eyes don’t draw any higher than the lower half of Eliott’s face. Lucas turns a notch redder. “_We’re_ so close. Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever… ever had—”

“Lucas, you—“

“—Ever had someone that looks like you with me. Watching me.” 

Ask him, Eliott’s mutinous brain urges. “Someone that looks like me?” 

“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.” Lucas sounds dazed.

“You haven’t seen yourself?” Eliott says, a shade louder than before. 

Lucas is not yet done. “And. You look so big. Like, in those jeans. Were these the same jeans you wore when we first met? Did you wear this on purpose? Because this tight inseam situation you have going on,” he observes, pausing to wave at the general vicinity of Eliott’s crotch. “Bad for your circulation, but totally doing it for me.” 

A bold statement deserves to be followed up with an equally bold action. Lucas grabs Eliott’s dick through his jeans, squeezes, and pulls him closer.

“A grower,” Lucas murmurs.

Eliott wordlessly peels Lucas’s hands off the rapidly solidifying situation down south. Apparently, Lucas eschews any and all forms of subtlety when drunk. Lots of people wouldn’t get away with this level of wasted forwardness, but he’s Lucas, and Eliott is weak. 

Lucas clutches Eliott closer until they’re chest to chest, warm breath tickling his chin. And, well, Eliott likes this position. Like, a lot. Thing is, if he isn’t careful, Eliott’s going to end up with a significantly hard problem right in front of the world’s figurative salad. If this goes on any longer, Eliott isn’t sure he’d feel confident in his ability to stand up without flashing everyone his boner right in the middle of the dance floor. 

“Your hands feel so big, too,” Lucas murmurs, sounding reverent. Going from crotch size to the width of his hands seems like a come-on downgrade, but somehow Eliott’s heartbeat slams harder against his throat. “Everything about you is. I really wouldn’t mind if… if you--” 

He grips Lucas’s waist tighter in response, ignoring his little gasp of surprise (easier said than done) and looks around over Lucas’s wild mane of hair intending to ask Arthur for some sort of save. 

Except Arthur’s already disappeared into the thick of the crowd. Whether Eliott looked left or right, too many indistinguishable blond heads are poking out of clumps of frenzied vibrating bodies.

“Fuck,” Eliott mutters. 

“You want to?” 

Lucas squints bloodshot eyes up as though Eliott’s shining too brightly to behold. Lucas’s face is too close to Eliott’s, the curl of his plush red lips flirting with Eliott’s heart rate. Eliott bites at the inside of his cheek, thinking about Lucas’s mouth opening under his and the bittersweet taste of vodka.

Eliott catches himself in time before his world turns completely helter skelter. He forces himself to take minute deep breaths, _one two three,_ to calm the rock solid hardness threatening to burst out his jeans. He’s not sure if it’s working.

This isn’t good.

Lucas reaches out a hand and strokes his cheek. Eliott grabs hold of his fingers. The unexpected intimacy pushes Eliott’s pulse into overdrive. He hopes Lucas can’t feel the fluttering pulse that’s just a few centimeters from his fingers, even if it’s making Eliott’s head (yes, north and south) swell and pulsate like a toad’s throat.

Eliott leans closer, millimeters from Lucas’s ear. “Lucas, you’ve had too much to drink. I’ll get you back to Arthur and your friends, okay?” 

Lucas pulls back a bit, pouting. “You don’t want it?” 

“Want what?” Eliott indulges gently, turning to steer Lucas by the shoulders. 

“To kiss me?” Lucas says - no, _pleads_, squirming like a precocious worm as Eliott leads him to another corner. He hums as if recalling something pleasant, “And other things. Nice things. It’s why Arthur and Yann were trying to find you all night and brought me over. We’re meant to fu— oof. Watch where you’re going, some girls just can’t keep their hands to themselves.” 

Eliott would love nothing more than to do whatever Lucas wants. Kiss him everywhere. Hold him close and never let go. Anything, everything. If they’re standing on the edge of a cliff, Eliott right at the precipice with Lucas telling him to jump, Eliott would ask how low and how deep should he go. He’d bury himself at the earth’s molten core if Lucas asks him to. There’s just a significant barrier at the moment, one that Eliott takes pretty seriously. He’s been to one too many parties to know that these are places where you get so hammered beyond belief until you’re barely identifiable as a coherent, thinking human being. Too many hook-ups where he or either party felt pangs of numbness in the morning, emptying their come on stomachs and thighs, yet feeling distinctly hollow inside, scooped out and unsatisfied.

“I do want to. But you’re too drunk to take any of this seriously,” Eliott explains calmly. “You probably won’t remember this in the morning,”

He finally spots who he figures out from context clues must be Yann and Bas, talking to a gaggle of girls a few feet away, Arthur circling the periphery with so many shot glasses dangling off one hand it must’ve qualified as a legitimate party trick. He marches forward, shepherding Lucas up and around by steering him at arm’s length.

But Lucas twists in his hold, coming round face-to-face with Eliott once again. Even under the influence, he clearly looks annoyed, mixed with simultaneously endearing and pitiful desire. “I definitely will remember you rejecting me. I may not look like it, but I have the memory of an elephant.”

“This is the furthest thing from a rejection,” Eliott protests fiercely, adam’s apple bobbing in distress. He doesn’t miss Lucas’s eyes following the movement. “I’m just making sure you won’t regret anything, okay? You deserve—”

“I’ll tell you what I deserve: A nice, big, juicy co—” 

“No, okay? You deserve better. You deserve everything.” 

Amazingly, Lucas goes quiet. They stare at each other for a long moment. Bass and blood roars in Eliott’s ears, skin hot and alive.

Then Lucas holds up one finger inches from Eliott’s face. Eliott crosses his eyes to focus. “Fine. One time. You can be a stupid hot gentleman just this one time.”

Just like that, he saunters (more like staggers, but whoever said love isn’t blind) away from Eliott and towards his friends, seeming put-out. For a few moments, Eliott keeps an eye on him; Lucas flails his hands like he’s telling the most thrilling story, climax, denouement, and resolution in wide-open gestures. His friends’ faces do a few facial acrobatic moves - disbelief, confusion, even outrage - before it settles on wide-eyed astonishment. 

Lucas looks back at Eliott with the smallest of smirks. Eliott thinks he’s adorable even like this. Absolutely adorable. Actually, he would look even better spread out underneath him, using that soft but firm voice to choke out Eliott’s name. 

And that’s his cue to leave. Any more time inside and he could be eating his words, throwing himself head-first back into Lucas’s axis of seduction. And if he does, he’s not sure if he can escape this time around.

He’ll take care of his little _problem_ by himself. 

For now. 

.

That Monday after the party, Lucas cuts an adorably low-key figure in a worn navy blue hoodie paired with slim-cut jeans and Nike sneakers that looked like Christmas vomited all over it. He glances up for a blip of a second to catch Eliott’s eye before looking away. Boyish and beautiful with upswept bangs and oversized glasses, it’s pretty easy to see why he could tempt Eliott so fucking bad just the weekend prior.

“Sorry I can’t study with you later, I’m just really busy today. Are you okay? You look so red,” he hears Lucas saying to one of their classmates, a guy seated behind him who resembled matinee idol Victor Meutelet if his face had been through the wringer, sounding like he sincerely cares. He also sounds the same when he’s asking his viewers how their days went, legs spread and stroking himself the to the tune of a 0.2-second rapidfire pings on his ipad.

_Victor Meutelet-lite has a crush on you and it’s bugging me that I don’t know if you don’t know it, _Eliott thinks, slumping in his seat. His mind saves himself by refusing to complete that thought. It’s Class Etiquette 101. Don’t go sporting a semi when you don’t know if you want to get noticed by the object of your affections. Do not exhibit signs of masochism and/or irrational jealousy, etcetera.

Sander chooses that precise moment to come in and dump his notebook on the table. “What the fuck?” he pssts to Eliott.

“What’s up with you?” Eliott says, taking his gaze off Lucas several rows up front in favor of giving Sander some major side-eye. 

“Dude, your common sense,” Sander marvels, making a noise meant to mimic a nuclear explosion, but is more of a giant balloon running out of air. “I think it oozed out your ears at the party. Denial must be one helluva drug, huh? I need a year’s supply of whatever you’re having ‘cos it literally sounds mind-numbing.”

“I guess you heard how _nothing _happened,” Eliott sighs. Talk about theatrics at eight am. “And who’s the little bird this time?”

“That’s exactly the problem!” Sander hisses at Eliott under his breath. “What did I tell you? Shoot your shot. And what did you do? The polar goddamn opposite. You went to point C - point cockblock - when you were supposed to head to point D, as in dick.”

“Yeah, I got that the first time,” Eliott responds, cut-eye intensifying.

“All the openings were there. I heard he was practically _shoving_ you into that goddamn opening and the only thing that would’ve made it more obvious was a welcome marching band.”

“Look, he was drunk, okay. I didn’t want to take advantage,” whispers Eliott, sneaking a look as the professor comes up front. Later when they’re smack dab in the middle of class, someone needs to answer his questions. Eliott doesn’t want to be that person. So like most students, Eliott drops his eyes immediately like there’s a dead body lying on the floor.

Sander does the same, gaze fixed down and pretending to be blind. But apparently he hasn’t said the rest of his piece yet. Moments later, he ducks his head near Eliott’s ear, intoning lower but just as incredulous, “Eli, guys and girls and fucking farm animals throw themselves at you on a regular basis and you’ve been pretty welcoming so far. How is this any different? Are you in love or something?”

Sander may have a point.

No one else has so completely taken residence in Eliott’s mind at all hours of the day like Lucas. And the funny thing is, he doesn’t even imagine Lucas naked most of the time. Just his face, his voice, his mouth is enough to get him going.

And when he thinks of him, he draws. He’s always drawn, anyway, first as a source of comfort and a form of therapy; and now as an exploration of all the feelings he finds hard to express, hieroglyphs of pain, frustration, confusion, happiness in crosshatched shapes and heavy lines. These days, he draws his preferred rhetorical device, his raccoon spirit animal, beside different creatures and doing trivial everyday things. There’s a lion cub: fierce, adorable, and gutsy (thank you, Arthur). A golden doodle: smart, sassy and - if his shows indicate correctly - extremely energetic. A majestic blue coral snake: beautiful, not to be underestimated, infused with earthy sensuality. But none of them seem quite right next to his beloved raccoon.

Several times the past few weeks, in class, seeing (and avoiding) Lucas in the corridors, while watching Lucas’s shows - it doesn’t feel like a giddy crush anymore. Not even when he was dating Lucille did everything feel so all-consuming. Eliott’s become acutely aware that if this doesn’t turn out right, he would get crushed instead.

To avoid that, he wants to do everything right.

“You never answered the last bit,” Sander points out after class. Only a few people are left in the room, most of the students already milling about outside.

“I think you’re right.” Eliott’s still a little lost in his thoughts as he stuffs papers in his own backpack.

“Speaking of being right. Someone’s coming. You might wanna look sharp.” Sander cuffs him on the shoulder before hurriedly sprinting downstairs and leaving Eliott high and dry. He passes Lucas on the way down; Sander gives an enthusiastic thumbs-up Lucas’s way, much to the latter’s bafflement. Eliott barely stops himself from facepalming.

Lucas stands in front of him, looking radiant. Even a tiny smile lights up his entire face. Eliott can feel himself dissolving. Not like chocolate melting in heated hands, no. More like fast disappearing, along the vein of tigers in China and manatees in the gulf.

“Hi, Eliott,” he says, chewing on his bottom lip. “Can we talk?”

Sander pokes his head through the door to get one last thing in. “And remember, Eli. Point D!”

Eliott sighs heavily, shaking his head. “Hi, Lucas. Do you maybe wanna talk somewhere else? Unless it’s okay with you if a certain person who may or may not have bumped into you on the way up interrupts. Again.”

“I actually have another class in-“ Lucas glances at his phone. “Twenty minutes. And I’m pretty sure your friend isn’t coming back. I think we’re good here? We’re the only ones left, anyway.”

“Oh. Sure. Is this about?” Eliott lets the question dangle.

Lucas drops his backpack down to the floor. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “The party, yeah. Um, I’m really sorry for how that entire thing went down. I know I said… things. I can remember some, but not everything. All I know is that I was a mess. Usually I don’t get that bad. I guess I was feeling some type of way that night.”

“You said you had the memory of an elephant, though,” Eliott says slowly, still not not entirely able to process a sober Lucas looking so penitent.

Lucas laughs, a little embarrassed. “I did? Huh, how ‘bout that. Actually, I do remember you saying something about me deserving better.”

_You deserve everything_.

A hot flush floods Eliott’s face. He clears his throat.

“Anyway, we’re cool. You don’t actually have to apologize. Everyone has their little drunken quirks and yours just happens to be—“

“Feeling you up? Asking you to fu— kiss me?” Lucas cuts in. Eliott’s breathing stops when Lucas brings his baby blues back to gaze deeply into Eiott’s eyes. “Yeah, no. I’m glad you stopped me from whatever it is I wanted to do or was asking you to do. It would just feel... so wrong.”

Eliott opens his mouth but ends up tightening his jaw instead. A surge of bitterness creeps up the back of his throat and he forces it back down by swallowing hard. Just as he’s still struggling with Lucas’s words, the culprit breaks into a shy, hesitant smile.

“But today’s a different story,” Lucas says, his voice soft but determined, almost hypnotic. “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to go out sometime? Not just because I want to thank you for being so good to me at the party, but I - you probably get asked out a lot, right?”

Heat blooms in the center of Eliott’s chest. “No, not really. Dates aren’t regular everyday occurrences for me.”

Lucas raises a disbelieving brow. “Oh? You having no dates? Sounds fake, but okay.”

Eliott can hear his heartbeat loud and fast in his ears. “Ever since you, there’s been no one else.”

Lucas stares, a wide doe-eyed look of surprise. Eliott sees a familiar shade of red creep up his nape.

Finally, Lucas breaks the silence. “No one else, huh? Not even other camboys? I know some of the best camboys in the region. We talk sometimes on support groupchats and on twitter. If you’re into Scandinavian blonds or Italian stallions or Dutch twinks, I can hook you up. Or good ol’ porn? Lots of choices on the market nowadays.”

Lucas must be testing him. Besides, Eliott’s never been that hot for blonds. He smiles and shakes his head no. “I only watch you. Well, unless my bank account’s weeping blood and I have to settle for cartoon porn and badly written erotica. But yeah, I’d really rather not if I can help it. So - only you.”

Lucas giggles, warmth pouring into his eyes, turning them day bright and limpid. Stray strands sweep over his forehead; Eliott has an overwhelming urge to push his hair back, feel the tresses between his fingers and finally discover how soft they are. He has a feeling he’ll know what to pair with his little raccoon once he earns the privilege of touching Lucas’s hair.

They exchange numbers shortly after, Eliott promising to message Lucas after both their schedules were done for the day. Lucas nods excitedly, hair bouncing as he hoists his backpack up on one shoulder. Halfway through Lucas talking animatedly about his next class, Eliott already has a half-formed idea of Lucas’s animal avatar. If only he could—

But now there’s time to find out. Don’t rush, Eliott thinks. 

“Anyway, sorry for the paywalls. You know how it is. It’s a pretty good way to stay afloat when this school charges, like, fifteen euro for a salad and soda.”

Eliott waves him off magnanimously. “I get it. Even being on scholarship doesn’t make the miscellaneous expenses magically disappear. And if it makes you feel any better, my 10-euro paypal account accepts your apology.”

Much like the first day they met, Lucas moves closer and goes on tiptoe, leaning up until Eliott can hear his breathing.

“Keep your eyes peeled for the next show, then. I thrive on feedback. And maybe, if you play your cards right, you can have an exclusive live show. Lots and lots of live shows, actually. And the best part?” Lucas murmurs, sending tingles up Eliott’s spine. “It’s all free of charge, just for you.”

.

Hours later, Eliott’s alone in the living room when he messages Lucas, asking if he’d like to go see the latest Pixar movie or go bowling. Or maybe even go to brunch. Sander and Robbe are always going on and on about the croissants from this one cafe; maybe Lucas would be down for a pastry tour around the neighbourhood. Thirty minutes pass before Lucas replies with: _hey eliott! bit busy atm. talk later? can’t wait to chat _❤️

The notification pings barely a minute later. At first, Eliott thinks it’s a mistake or a weird algorithmic fluke. Lucas doesn’t do shows on Mondays. He should know. He’s seen all of them, checked all the days. Lucas sticks to a schedule as any respectable streamer would. Knowing Lucas, he’d probably checked the analytics, seen what days of the week were best for posting, what times of the day stuck the landing.

He clicks on the link and quickly discovers it’s no mistake.

“Hey hoes and pervs,” Lucas greets, dressed in an overlarge black hoodie that’s halfway unzipped. It comes down past his hips and covers his upper thighs. He has nothing underneath - no shirt and no underwear, telltale bulge poking through the thick fabric. Today, he doesn’t have the usual edge of a snapback peeking through, and Eliott can see almost the entire bridge of his nose, his cheeks already flushed pink. His lips look red, almost bee-stung in its fullness like he’d sucked on it to get it worked up at the seams.

Eliott makes a mad dash for the bedroom. He ensures to lock the door in case the universe decides to punish him for sins in a past life and have Sander coming home with Robbe in tow in the middle of a _self-care sesh_.

“Let’s cut to the chase because, darlings. Your boy needs it quick and dirty today,” Lucas begins, running a delicate finger up and down the column of his throat. Eliott already feels his cock twitching to life in his boxers. “So since it’s a Monday, we’re skipping Naked Feelings. Honestly, I’ve had a plethora of feelings lately, a lot of it confusing and even frustrating, but most of it pretty good. Just once, I ask you, my loyal patrons, to please let me wallow in the nice and lovely wave of feelings before I dive once again into your emotional swamps.”

Eliott glances at the chat. It’s still a little early in the night, but it’s lively as ever. The tokens and tips start to pile on. Glancing back at the screen, Lucas has reached behind him to pull out an ordinary-looking cardboard box.

“This here holds our weapon of choice today,” Lucas declares happily. He opens the box and pulls out a thick, veiny blue dildo, little raised lines carving over the surface. Lucas rubs a fist around the length, smoothing over the head. He brings it to his lips, kisses the tip, then shakes it towards the camera. “I like to call this one, _Grower.”_

Eliott sputters. Jesus. He hopes he doesn’t finish too soon.

“While I go and lube up, we can do a little story time.” In between a chain of screaming _fuck yes here we go _comments, Lucas leans out of frame and pulls a small tube of lube with him. He settles back down on his heels, legs spread wide, face scrunched a little and Eliott thinks the hot swell of his aching cock must be painful, how desperate he must be, how he would sound like if he begged for Eliott.

“If you follow me on twitter, you’d know I was contacted by a custom dildo company today. They do moulds of actual cocks, things like that. They wanted to offer a sponsorship, but I said no. I just—“ Lucas has the slightest tremor in his voice as he begins to open himself up, one finger then two. He sucks his breath as the comment reel runs with praise.

Eliott wants to reach into the screen and knock all the commenters out, because _he_ should be the one telling Lucas how he good he looks, how much Eliott wants to kiss, stroke the hard length of his leaking cock until he’s keening, until Lucas is coming beneath him, around him, all over him. 

“I want a _very specific_ mould. But I’ve only ever - _oh, god, feels so good - _ever felt it once. And it was through jeans. Plus, my timing was so off.”There’s a shudder to Lucas’s thighs as he pumps his fingers in and out, a rhythmic pulse that Lucas rolls his hips to. “I hope - I hope I can get the specifics next time. I’d hate to be — _fuck, fuck, ohhh fuck — _fucking myself to proxy dicks forever.”

Eliott’s brain short circuits as he groans, fisting one hand around his swollen cock. _Shit, yes. You can have me. Whatever you want, whenever you want. All of me, just for you. _

“E— el, _oooh, _El, please, please." Lucas is fucking himself with the Grower now, voice taking on a high, keening edge. "I need to feel you inside. Fucking me. Owning me. Giving it to me."

He’s heaving, rasping for breath, dragging up past his throat and squeezing tiny moans along with them. He picks up the pace, the twitching of his legs growing sporadic. His cries grow higher in pitch, a broken chant of _El El El _falling past Lucas’s lips as he spills all over his sheets.

Eliott’s pushed over the edge too at the sight, stroking himself through Lucas’s name on his tongue. Searing fire zips up his spine as he shoots up over his own chest, big ropes clinging damp to his shirt.

Through half-lidded eyes, Eliott blearily watches the chat window fill with comments.

_WHO OR WHAT IS L?????? _

_LULU DO U HAVE A BF NOW _

_YRU LEWKIN 4 A V SPECIFIC DCK?????_

The screen has gone dark when Eliott’s phone buzzes. He fumbles for it with sticky hands, grimacing at the thought of clean-up.

His frown transforms into a shit-eating grin when he spots the message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a little ways to go! v v sorry to all who’ve been waiting for an update; i’m frankly astounded that i’ve gotten so many messages about this one fic. unfortunately, sometimes our real lives just get in the way + when we kinda sorta would rather burn our own writing than post it, this is what happens. in any case, your comments & kudos mean the world to me, and i’m so so thankful to everyone. hope the wait was worth it and anyone still reading enjoys ❤️


	4. taste your new squeeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this edition: Roses are red, balls are blue, Lucas wants the D, and Eliott’s one ill-timed text away from staging a roommate coup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to anyone still reading, i hope you are all safe and healthy, and that this serves as a distraction to the times we're living in today.

It’s gratifying, knowing Lucas made good on his promise for a stream dedicated to him. Make no mistake: Eliott wants him. Nothing and no one has arrested his attention more than Lucas. But it’s not enough anymore just to watch him from the back row, hear him talk about his day, see him on a pixelated screen—he wants all of him. Is it normal to want to completely fill someone up, body and heart and soul?

During his and Lucille’s three-year run, his artistic life had taken a toll. Lucille had become a well-acquainted, comforting place throughout lycée . For a while they worked. But there was this feeling Eliott could never shake, that they were in a movie arranged for them and they were both playing increasingly strained roles. He was creating his own bruise and repeatedly pressing against it, just to feel the sensation, just to see the colours change. Come time for University, their relationship had run its natural course and they’d broken up amicably, remaining distant friends.

Lucas on the other hand, jolted him out of his figurative sleep. Now he’s wide awake, consuming an exhilarating image. It’s like watching a HongKong new wave movie. The narrative feels like a fantasy grounded in reality; the cinematography makes him swoon with a lush colour palette of blues, reds, and golds; its dream-like visuals, the precision of every frame: every pose, angle, and prop deliberately arranged so that every shot contains a story that can stand alone as a single photograph in Eliott’s mind.

He’s still getting used to the all-consuming feeling of persistent desire. Sure, he’s had his share of trysts and one-night stands. After all, casual is sexy, caring is scary. You don’t want to show your hand too soon. Sure, he’s been in love once. But even then, never did it cross his mind to shamelessly cling onto someone. There had been no doubts if he’d been doing the whole thing right or wrong or whether it’s the right timing. 

Just the fact that he even thought about date options is an exception, not the rule. He’d been serious when he told Lucas he didn’t go on dates. People he’d hooked up with didn’t bother to ask him out because he was upfront—strictly one-time engagements only. Dates are time-consuming and expensive, and Eliott would rather not do them. Like any pragmatic guy his age, he’d usually have a sex interview with a person to see if he even wants to invest in a first date. Nine times out of ten, he doesn’t see the point of going further.

Lucas is the only one who bucks the trend.

And he wants so badly for all this to go right. To be right.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have time to wallow in self-doubt. He checks the time, is horrified to discover it’s less than thirty minutes before schedule, and quickly gets dressed in a casual shirt and ripped jeans. He doesn’t want to be late to this date.

Eliott being on time, much less early to dates: another anomaly to add to the growing list of peculiarities. As he makes a mad dash to the cafe, he thinks, maybe Sander really hit the nail on the head this time. Maybe he’s in love again. 

.

A mere few days ago, Eliott could safely be categorized as just your everyday run-of-the-mill mess. Today, he reaches a key milestone by levelling up to _broke_ run-of-the-mill mess. How did this happen? When has he ever spent so much on dates to the point of running his funds dry? Where, oh where, did Eliott’s penny-pinching sensibilities run off to?

At the height of this emotional near-breakdown while wringing his hands at the cafe display case, he thinks of Lucas. His happy, excited little smile when he said he’d wait for Eliott’s text. How he could make Lucas smile like that again.

It’s official: let the records show that Eliott Demaury is a goner.

He surveys the croissants on the tray. No matter the variation, the layers are as distinct as ribs. One is striped blue and green, with a coif of cotton candy in lavender hues; another, ringed in deep magenta, flaunts a shard of purple yam like a feather in a cap; yet another sports the aroma of chocolate and basil, with blood oranges mashed on top. In a roundabout way, the croissants remind Eliott of Lucas: unassuming yet at once thrillingly deviant, a classic beauty liberally sprinkled with surprising elements. Deceptively simple until you try them: salty and sweet and tangy, melting in your mouth, leaving behind smears of cream.

Eliott hits the brakes on that train before it gets to a particularly sleazy station. This is _not_ the time to be thinking of cream and Lucas in a single sentence.

Just in time, he hears a familiar voice ring through the cafe. “Sorry, I’m late! I had to finish this paper and—woah. Thats a ton of croissants,” Lucas comments breathlessly upon arriving. His hair is in wild disarray, forehead glistening with a slight film of sweat, pink painting his cheeks. Like lovers in winter, his long, dark eyelashes cling to each other. Did he run? “This must’ve cost you a small fortune. And I thought the shows were milking you dry.”

Eliott coughs as Lucas wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so… I got everything? The barista also slipped me two free ones, something about people seeing me eat the pastries being good for business?”

Lucas stares, then ducks his head in a muted chuckle. “Well, can’t say I disagree. Hot guys eating croissants must be one of those internet-breaking things.” He draws up a chair across from Eliott. “You do this on all your first dates? The two freebies notwithstanding.”

Eliott grins. “Only for the ones whose shows I like. A grand total of one.”

Lucas matches his smile with a little more deviousness. “Mm, so you saw it, then? The latest show?”

Well, Eliott didn’t expect the conversation to go down this route so quickly. “… I did.”

“What did you think?”

Eliott gives Lucas a meaningful look, voice dropping low. “You know what I thought.”

Lucas smirks. “I really, really don’t.” He flutters his lashes under hooded eyes. “You can show me sometime if you’re not gonna say anything.”

Eliott gulps. He may very well be six feet under before this entire date is over and they’re not even five minutes in.

Lucas senses his mental agony and promptly breaks into a snort-laugh. “Please don’t look so worried, Eliott. I promise you’re _killing _it so far. A croissant buffet in an entire cafe that smells like coffee beans? I’m flattered.”

Abruptly, he lifts one of the croissants - the one dripping with caramel and pineapple - to his lips and takes a big, messy bite. The lack of daintiness in the motion pleasantly startles Eliott; the knowledge of Lucas possessing a bit of a rough, unpolished streak makes him all the more endearing.

Lucas’s eyes go wide with awe. “Fuck, this is so good! Oh my god, how did you find out about this place.” Eliott bites back a sudden urge to laugh as a sort of defense mechanism, because Lucas looks equal parts obscene and adorable. People shouldn’t be allowed to look this cute when they’re moaning around a flaky pastry.

A barista with wavy blonde tresses cascading down her back brings out their mugs and a small carafe of milk. The drinks are steaming and dark in hue without cream or sugar, the tiny packets sitting in a dish between them to flavour the coffee at their discretion. She leans over and discreetly slides a piece of paper over at Eliott. She takes her leave with a sweet smile and a saucy wink aimed Eliott’s way.

It’s Lucas who flips it over and says to Eliott after a second’s pause, “I didn’t know this cafe served 06-86-57-90-14**.” **He smiles playfully at Eliott, who now has a flush making its way up his neck. “You get served with hitting-on-customers-au-lait often? See, this is why I knew you had to be trolling me when you said you didn’t get asked out a lot.”

Eliott almost chokes on his own croissant. “Even if there _were_ a lot - and that’s not the case - it doesn’t count when it’s one-sided!” 

“Sure, Romeo. And _I’m _the campus superstar here with dozens of randoms eating out the palm of my hand,” Lucas volleys back with a grin, eyes rolling skywards. “_I’m _the one who’s out of your league. Right.”

Eliott hasn’t even gathered his wits, but he attempts a reply anyway. “Pretty sure I’m not out of anyone’s league. Much less yours. I mean, you’re beautiful.” His comeback game has always been on life support around people he likes, but now it may as well be close to flatlining. He’s just learned to accept his graceless self with grace.

Lucas barks out an incredulous laugh as a pretty flush creeps its way across his face. “Do you wanna know what I thought of the first time you went up to me? I’d thought I’d accidentally made a landmark scientific discovery by teleporting from a classroom to a catwalk.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I had to check where I was twice, because an actual supermodel-looking hot guy? Talking to me? And knowing about the cam show? It had to be some sort of joke.”

“When I saw you, I just—I needed to see if it was _really_ you. In hindsight it could be seen as a prank, that kind of forwardness.” The words gush from his mouth in a surge of panic before he could stop himself. He needs to let Lucas feel his sincerity. “Or even something worse. It must’ve come out like I was trying to... to be creepy or even blackmail you. I really don't blame you for thinking the worst. I’m really sorry."

Lucas shakes his head, waving Eliott’s apologies off. “No, I could see right away you were just this super hot, super earnest guy who just liked to watch a random cam show for some reason.” Eliott could think of several reasons, but Lucas still has more to say. “After that day, I waited for you to talk to me again, because a guy that comes up to you saying they watch your shows has to be a really confident stud, right?”

Eliott raises his hands, because he doesn’t think he’s so humble that he wouldn’t notice this so-called studliness. Then again, Sander does keep him _so grounded_ \- like chained to the ground, fallen-angel-with-defective-wings kind of grounded - so maybe Lucas has a point. “I’m not—“

“Turns out, you’d rather run away screaming than get within two feet of me ever again. Look, if that was some sort of tactic to make me think about you all the time, it worked,” Lucas continues, averting his gaze from Eliott’s, who lowers his hands and clamps his mouth shut. “And then at the party, when you brought me back to the guys. That’s when I knew you had to be, um, different. Someone I’d—” Lucas’s eyes keep darting between the coffee and the floor. “I’d want to get know better. Way better…” he trails off and the last of his words are mumbled, almost swallowed by the background noise of the cafe.

“I’d like that, too. To get to know you better,” Eliott blurts out, intelligently.

“Okay. Let’s do that,” Lucas agrees with a wholly flustered look on his face, as if only just realizing now the weight of his admission.

Lucas tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, then licks his lips before he begins nibbling them nervously. In a few seconds, his lips turn particularly shiny and red, like a freshly cut carnation. Much later, Eliott would eventually recognize it as a nervous tic. For now, he wordlessly hands Lucas his cup and tries his best to act cool even though his heart is fluttering in his chest.

They sip on their drinks and settle into a comfortable talk, skipping from one topic to another without much order. It flows smoothly, one thing connects with the other; it’s easy to hold a conversation with Lucas. His bright wit and open laughter grips Eliott by the balls. They click with each other so cleanly that Eliott can feel it as a physical thing inside him.

The next half consists consists of Lucas drilling Eliott with questions about his various gigs, including: catalog modelling, art commissions, the vintage film store, and - one time, never to be repeated - human sushi platter. Eliott’s parents may be loaded, but he’d much prefer buying non-necessities (the occasional beer, joint, and site credits) with his own money.

Eliott also learns several things about Lucas, most of which involve Lucas being an unapologetic nerd. Lucas juggles several advanced physics and chemistry classes, only taking up the philosophy elective to satisfy his required Humanities units. With a little bit of luck and a lot of shoving his nose to the grindstone, he wants to graduate in three years instead of four; he plans to go straight to working for _Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique_. He’s thinking of taking on two research assistant jobs next semester to boost his extracurricular credentials. It’ll definitely cut into his streaming time and the pay won’t be as great, he says, but he’s already saved up quite a bit from barely a year of doing cam shows.

“I think I’m just looking for the right time to quit,” he hedges nonchalantly. Eliott notes the red seeping into his cheeks again. “Or the right person to quit for. I bet he won’t be too happy about me doing that kind of thing when I’m supposed to be all his.”

“But it’s not like you have to shackle yourself to your boyfriend’s whims.” Eliott frowns, feeling conflicted. He’s no paragon of selflessness when it comes to sharing, but he’d be a hypocrite to police Lucas when he himself “met” him through a stream. “You always have a choice. You have agency even when you’re taken.”

“I know. And I do. My friends would even argue I’ve got _too much _autonomy because I don’t listen to them most of the time and just do whatever I want,” Lucas hums, leaning forward. He lowers his head and grins. “But being taken. Oof. You know, that’s such a loaded word. I take it very seriously.”

Eliott takes the bait like the sucker he is. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve never been in anything long-term, but if I was, I’d want to be _taken _in all the ways possible,” Lucas confesses, lifting his eyes to peek at Eliott for his reaction. “Emotionally… physically. And of course, it’s reciprocal. He’ll be mine in all the ways, too.”

Is it getting hot in here or is just about to have a sudden cardiac arrest. “I—uh. Okay.”

Lucas sits back, satisfied. “So, tell me something about yourself that _isn’t_ about a job.”

Eliott chews on the inside of his cheek. “What do you want to know?”

“Something the grandma over at the next table or the little kid ordering at the counter wouldn’t mind hearing. Something G-rated.” Lucas holds up three fingers. “Three things, please.”

“Just three?”

“So we can keep surprising each other later on,” Lucas says. “Gotta keep some of the suspense, y’know? Keeps things interesting.”

Eliott mentally scrambles for some interesting personal factoids, holding up three fingers of his own. “I can do the firefly pose in yoga but I can’t completely sink my heels in downward dog.” He ticks one finger down.

“Sounds intense. Go on,” Lucas urges.

“You already know I love to draw, but art is... it's more than that. It's my passion." It has also kept him sane and tethered to reality on multiple occasions, is what he doesn't say. "My favourite to draw is raccoons. They’re my spirit animal, if you wanna call it that. Actually, nearly every person I’m close to I think up animal avatars for them. My roommate’s a silver fox, and his boyfriend’s a roe deer.” Another finger down.

“A raccoon. Hmm. That’s interesting.” Lucas’s eyes light up like he’s recalling a far-off memory. “Wait. Are you raton_laveur?”

He coughs as he remembers all the various comments he’d typed up with the username. Not to mention how much money he’s spent on Lucas’s shows. Of course, his username must show up in the statistics time and again, and if Lucas ever looked close enough he might realize Eliott’s been anal about being there, watching from start to finish, and paying up fucking _token packages_ weeks in advance.

“Fuck, I totally gave myself away there.” Eliott faintly registers his dignity fucking off to go die. 

“Sure did. How can I not remember you? You’ve been pretty active on the chat,” Lucas says, laughing like he just found out his birthday comes twice this year. “You never went through with a private show, though. Even when you outbid some of the others.”

“I only started outbidding everyone when I met you in person. And I didn’t want to take advantage.” It’s the truth, but not entirely. Not only would it feel wrong to know he’d ordered Lucas to do whatever the hell he wanted all while seeing him in class the next day. He’d also rather throw himself off a cliff than let anyone else see Lucas in a private show. “Coincidentally, I had some more gigs come my way then.”

“Such a gentleman. Aren’t I lucky.” Lucas giggles like it’s the discovery of a lifetime. “Well, I never would’ve pegged you for a furry. There’s some of that on the site if you want links,” he cajoles, and Eliott sputters. “Kidding aside, why a raccoon?”

“They’re naturally curious creatures, smart and resourceful.” Eliott rubs the lobe of his ear with his index finger and thumb as he weighs whether to say what he’s thinking of next. In a split second, he decides to spit it out. “And they wear masks. If you believe in spirit animal lore, it symbolizes the disguise of the inner self.” He makes finger-circles around his eyes for emphasis.

Lucas sips his coffee and says thoughtfully, “I get that.” He pauses, before adding eventually, “If you had to draw me, what would I be?”

Eliott’s gaze flits to Lucas’s wild nest of hair and big, curious eyes, everything about him exuding playfulness. This is the same shameless, headstrong devil that had Eliott’s head spinning and his nether regions standing to attention at the party. But now the more he looks at Lucas, the more he sees the contradictions: sincerity and wits and bashfulness; it’s catnip to Eliott. Lucas can act as headstrong or prickly as he wants, but at the end of the day all he is to Eliott is _radiant_.

“Let me get back to you on that,” he offers.

Lucas huffs. “Fine. And just so you know, I’m hoping it’s something cool. The third?”

Eliott pauses. Now or never. This is it - the potential dealbreaker. “I’m bipolar. I was diagnosed back when I was in lycée. I still have my highs and lows but they’re not as bad as before. The meds mostly have them under control.”

He wants to say more about this many-sided creature inside him, his brain constantly at war with his racing heart. That he’d fought tooth and nail to be able to get along with himself. About days where his entire body tingled with joy and fearlessness and indestructibility. Days where the sky is too blue and he feels like going for multiple skydives. Then there are the days where even lifting his pinkie exhausts him and his blood fills with worms and all voices feel like nails on a chalkboard. Days when bone-deep fatigue descend upon him in arbitrary waves, as if lying in wait beneath his shadow, slowly carving a canyon through his body.

But he’s learned from trial and error that not everyone is emotionally equipped to deal with this sort of thing. A natural byproduct of growing older and honing his sense of self-preservation is accepting that some people are bound to disappoint you.

The rational part of his mind knows this is the moment where Lucas might run away. Better to say it now or forever hold his peace. But it doesn’t mean he’s letting go of that hope in his heart that Lucas will stay.

“They’re manageable, they don’t stop my life,” he continues quietly. “But I understand if you don’t want to deal with any of that.”

He watches carefully for Lucas’s reaction, body on the edge of some kind of fight-or-flight response. Lucas is silent for a moment, something like contemplation in his eyes.

“Thank you for telling me, Eliott,” he says finally, and Eliott hears it so soft that his anxiety evaporates. Lucas’s voice is a warm blanket and Eliott’s buries himself underneath the feeling.

“I just want to be honest from the start,” Eliott explains.

Lucas nods in understanding. “I’m glad you’d trust me enough to tell me. My mom’s sort of in a similar situation—hers is more severe. She lives in a treatment facility upstate for schizophrenia.”

Eliott’s eyes go wide. “Oh. Lucas, I’m—“

“No, it’s fine. It was a rough few years when she and my Dad were still together but now… she’s happier there than she ever was at home. Not to mention getting the care and treatment she deserves.” Lucas smiles, curving his hand over Eliott’s. Adoration floods Eliott’s heart and threatens to drown him when Lucas brushes a thumb over his knuckles. “So if you think that’s going to stop whatever we have going on here right now, you better re-evaluate.” 

.

The next leg of the date was supposed to be at the movie theater. It’s just Eliott’s luck that he has to cut this date short. His co-worker at the film store had apparently contracted a nasty flu, which resulted in his boss messaging if he’d be able to come in on short notice. There’s no way out of it; he’d taken one too many day-offs for the most inane reasons. His boss should’ve been canonized just for his patience with Eliott alone.

At Eliott’s profuse apology, the smile slips off Lucas’s face. “Oh,” he says, pouting. “But you’ll make it up to me, right?”

“Yeah, of course. Anything you wanna do, anywhere you wanna go,” he placates in a rush.

“Anything or anywhere?” Lucas echoes, quickly regaining an ear-splitting grin. Eliott circles back to what he just said for any traces of innuendo and—oh. There it is. _Anything, anywhere_. “I’m kidding! I was just thinking we could do another movie night.”

“Sure, we could,” Eliott concedes. And then, “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Just in case the multiple affirmatives aren’t enough to convey his over-willingness to take Lucas up on the offer. “Same theater next week?”

“I was thinking actually… maybe at your place next time?”

He can feel Lucas fixing him with a look; he has a kind of zoomed-in, searchlight eye contact when he spouts off these things that make Eliott trip up on himself.

Eliott tries to look nonchalant. Possibly succeeds.

Or not. His mouth goes dry. “Y—yeah. Why not?” 

“Great!” Lucas says happily, sporting a grin that’s mushier than the inside of Eliott’s head. This is how he dies, Eliott thinks: exhausting all the ways to make Lucas smile like this all the time.

He offers to walk Lucas home to his dorm. It’s a bit (or a lot) out of the way from the store, but it’s the least he could do to temper Lucas’s obvious disappointment. They leave the cafe walking side by side, almost brushing hands. It’s a short walk back, and it’s nice, how the sunlight seeps into Lucas’s face, especially when they make his eyes shine that much brighter. He likes how the slope of Lucas’s nose perfectly catches the light, the way his chin hints at a fullness his cheekbones sloped away from, and before he knew it they’re nearing the entrance.

Upon arriving, they pass through a narrow aisle that serves as a shortcut to the dorm. A couple of guys from the campus repertory are going through it as well, carrying some large props with them. To give them way, Eliott and Lucas have to press themselves to the wall, which is how Lucas ends up with his side snug against Eliott’s, heat seeping through thin clothes onto skin.

“Hey,” says Eliott, when Lucas’s cheek presses against his chest. It should be uncomfortable being stuck like this, and the air conditioning’s probably busted. He may be starting to sweat—and did Lucas just sniff his chest? “You okay?”

“Yup,” Lucas squeaks, quickly moving away when the guys with props clear the aisle. “Sorry.”

“Oh, no, it’s alright,” he replies, just as someone bumps into Lucas and sends him into Eliott’s embrace again.

“Not sure if this counts as accidental second-base,” Lucas says with exaggerated cheer, nose still buried in Eliott’s shirt. Then he jerks back, face burning. He looks a little mortified, as if he couldn’t quite believe his boldness.

Just a week ago, Lucas’s hand had felt his dick up. The fact that _this_ is what makes him flustered warms Eliott all over.

“Probably,” Eliott points out with a smile as they resume walking again. Per Lucas, they’re nearing his block. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, though. We’ve gone way further, if you think about it.”

“Not far enough, in my expert opinion.”

Lucas _really_ seems determined to murder him. And the thing is, Eliott would probably let him.

They reach Lucas’s door. He turns to face Eliott, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, and fuck, it’s so cute. Eliott has to yank his eyes away for a bit; something funny tingles at the bottom of his stomach.

“This is me.” Lucas tilts his head so their eyes meet, and a shiver runs down Eliott’s spine. “Thanks for today, it was pretty fun. And the croissants weren’t so bad.” He holds up the bag of take-out croissants; Eliott knows for a fact that Lucas enjoyed them so much he’d taken even the ones with literally just bites left.

“Sure.” He doesn’t want to go, but he kind of has to or else he’d get an earful. “I’ll message you later?”

“I’ll wait for it,” Lucas says. Something about his expression changes, smile fading out slightly before it’s back again, like he reminds himself to keep it up. “I guess this is goodbye?”

“Yeah.” Now’s the time to turn around and walk out the building, but he can’t find himself to move.

Maybe his mind is playing tricks on him, but Lucas looks almost pleading. Like he’s waiting for Eliott to do something. Anything. And Lucas isn’t doing anything more than just looking at him, that’s all. Then why does it feel like he can’t take his eyes off Lucas?

Lucas averts his gaze first, sighing as if resigned. He moves to reach for the doorknob.

No, Eliott can’t leave him like this. The conflicting emotions claw at him. Does he go for it or not? Is this the right time? Should he even be thinking about _the right time_? This isn’t an elaborate game of chess where he has to give up piece after piece of himself to get to the other side of the board. He doesn’t have to think of strategic points in time when he could kiss or touch or do _something_. If not now, then when?

Fuck it.

Lucas is already inside and about to close the door when Eliott holds the edge open.

“Wait,” Eliott says, determined; Lucas is stunned motionless by the force of it. “You said you wanted to be surprised?”

Lucas knits his brows together. “Ye-es?”

“I’m not the best at surprises, but maybe this will do for now.”

He doesn’t think much after that. He steps closer, leans in. He presses his lips to Lucas’s cheek, kissing him chaste and gentle, too unsure to allow himself anything more. There’s a sharp intake of breath, and Eliott doesn’t pull back immediately after. Instead, he nuzzles his face into the crook of Lucas’s neck, feeling how hot his skin is, how fast his pulse beats under the touch of Eliott’s mouth. He smells like sugar and sunlight. He moves his hands to Lucas’s back, presses his palms to his shoulder blades.

He feels Lucas’s fingers wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him closer and then simply resting there, his hands warm and steady. Eliott’s heart pounds hard, blood rushes through his veins fast, all too fast.

Lucas pulls back, gaze searching. His grip is firm on Eliott’s back.

“Yours is nice, but—“ Lucas murmurs, breath tickling Eliott’s ear, “I’ve got a surprise of my own.”

His hands wind around Eliott’s neck, bright blues drifting shut. He’s close, so close. Their lips are practically touching, the remaining inch of air hardly making a difference, and—

Then they’re kissing. Lucas sighs into his mouth, and Eliott’s lets himself be tugged forward. After a moment of shock ricochets through him, he lifts his hand, cupping the back of Lucas’s head as he holds him still, keeping their lips pressed together.

It’s too many things at once: kissing is one of Eliott’s favourite and most familiar activities, but with Lucas it feels new and thrilling. The curve of Lucas’s pouty lips, the way their mouths slot together and the taste of his kiss, hot and sweet and exhilarating in the same breath. He takes in the slope of Lucas’s back, the swell of his hipbone and the curve of his biceps around the column of his neck. His hand travels further north, brushing Lucas’s hair gently, fingers threading through messy strands.

At that moment, Eliott has two epiphanies.

First, what he would draw Lucas as. It hits him like a blow of lightning, gripping Lucas’s hair tighter as a quiet moan floats from Lucas’s lips, soft and strained against their joined mouths. He’s small but so fierce, diffident yet dauntless. Everything about him intrigues Eliott.

Second, that he wants this. Suddenly, fiercely, greedily, he wants.

His head fills, then empties. All the mile a minute doubtful chatter in his brain goes silent, leaving him with one clear action.

With the rush of an open dam, he takes the reins. The kiss quickly loses some of its delicateness. Eliott’s hand clamps around Lucas’s hip and pulls him in closer, lining their bodies together as he twists them both sideways until Lucas’s back connects with the door. He lightly grazes his teeth on Lucas’s bottom lip and the latter doesn’t hesitate to eagerly part his mouth for him, whimpering softly once Eliott tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

Lucas’s hand shake and grip at Eliott’s clothes tighter when Eliott’s thigh slides between his own. The blood rushes fast enough that he can almost hear it in his ears.

After what feels like forever, Lucas pulls back. His lips are puffy and tender, cheeks flushed pink.

“You want to—to come inside? My roommate’s out for the day,” he says shyly, chewing on his lower lip.

Eliott wants to yell both _fuck, you have to stop doing that _and _fuck yes, I’d love nothing more_ when his phone buzzes, reminding him that he’s not supposed to be here much longer. “Shit, I can’t. I really have to go,” he says, voice coming out rougher than before.

Still in a daze, Lucas nods once. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll wait for your text.” His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip.

The more he watches Lucas, the more Eliott doesn’t want to leave. His heads reels, hearing the dull murmur of Lucas’s voice but not being able to make much sense of it. Everything and everyone else falls away, his world drains of colour except for the boy in front of him. Lucas is like a magnet charging the surrounding air, charging him, and when his eyes land on Eliott he’s guided like an opposite pole, putting him right at the center of tension of release.

He steps back for his own good. He can’t stop thinking about kissing Lucas again.

He _really_ has to make a run for it or else he’s never gonna make it to the store.

.

As scheduled, Lucas hosts another stream on Friday night. Judging by the comments, he’s been doing quick streams for a good while now, ever since Eliott last watched him before their first date. His patrons haven’t dwindled—have in fact doubled since Eliott has last seen the counter, Lucas continuing his streak as one of the more popular camboys on the site—but they’re more demanding than ever.

The messages pop up, suggestions in big block capitals and flashing emoticons. If Lucas got tipped every time the eggplant, peach and raindrops emojis were used, he’d probably be earning way more than he already was.

Eliott catches the show just as Lucas is viewing the numbers, eschewing his usual intro in astonishment. When his username pops up, Lucas breaks into a grin and waves, a silent acknowledgment that he’s seen Eliott entering the stream.

“There’s a lot today! To the new guys, hi! I’m Lulu, at your service from 23h until, well, until I’m spent. Or when someone outbids you all. But usually we’re here until I’m all blissed out, right?”

_hey gorgeous!!!_

_lulu ur mouth _

_is the 8th wonder of the world_

_or ur ass_

_GUZZLE MY CUM _

_im get get in there n cum all over ur ass_

_GET STRETCHED&WET_

_stop fcking TEASINGGG_

_I FXCKIN LOVE U LULU_

“Ssshh guys, settle down. Don’t ruin my opening.” A beat. “At least, not yet.” 

A slew of dirty comments follow, all of which Lucas must’ve expected with such blatant double innuendo. He just smiles, slow and sultry as he reads it all on his iPad. When he speaks next, it’s like the luxurious way people drag off a joint. Low, kind of husky, the drawn out vowels riding the air out of his lungs.

Eliott’s cock twitches to life. The response borders on Pavlovian. 

“Now, now, I know you’re all thirsty. But I’ve missed talking for a bit. After that, you guys can choose what I get to fuck myself with today, okay? So relax, boys.”

His attention darts back to the video. Today, Lucas sits cross-legged in a thin blue shirt and some loose boxer shorts—way more clothes than usual for his streams. Before him is an array of toys, some Eliott vaguely recognizes from past shows: there’s the little purple vibrator (a fan favourite), an assortment of plugs that run through the mill until Lucas is ragged and panting, some cock rings, two squirting dildos (affectionately nicknamed Big Shot and Joystick), and— yep, he spots the Grower and its blue raised veins right in the middle of the heap.

Eliott dimly registers how Lucas has stopped calling his viewers the usual endearments—my loves, my darlings. Before he can process it, Lucas takes his shirt off, pink spreading over his chest, clavicles, and neck. He curls his thumb beneath the waistband of his boxers, pulls the elastic and snaps it back.

Eliott bites back a groan at the sound of it. He thinks of touching him, all of him, any of him. Of pressing him onto any hard surface to kiss his red mouth again, a bit like the last time and not at all. Of fitting his nose to the curve of that graceful neck, sucking on that sinful little mole, hearing those tiny whimpers wriggle out his throat. Touching his lovely dusky nipples—fuck. He wonders if Lucas would moan at the feeling of a nipple rolled between his fingers, and of Eliott’s tongue and teeth and lips slick over that nipple, and whether or not he’d beg for more.

This time he’d let Lucas rub up against him like the world’s ending tomorrow, swallowing the little whimpers Lucas would make. This time he’ll cup a palm over Lucas’s hip, then slide it back to squeeze that perfect ass. This time he doesn’t think he can stand to be as gentle.

War begins to wage in the chatbox as people throw their choices onto the ring. Lucas tuts, chiding gently, “That’s for later! Let’s do Naked Feelings first. I’ve got so many questions I haven’t answered yet in my twitter DMs.”

Lucas hasn’t really done anything yet to warrant it, but Eliott’s imagination and memory begin to take over, body knotting with desire, arousal. He quickly strips down to just his undershirt and briefs. Lowers the lights, props himself up against the rigid black headboard of his bed.

“I’m not talking about the tops and vers dudes who message me with dick pics. Yeah, I saw yours, TenderJuicy34—assuming you have the same oddly specific twitter handle. I gotta say, some werestandout top-grade meat level. But if you follow me on twitter, you’d also know I’ve been saving myself for the one true dick. OTD, shall we say. That’s the only flesh-and-blood cock that’s getting in me anytime soon. So be good little pervs and wish your boy luck!” 

_nOOooooo oOOOoooo_

_LULU IS THIS L?? _

_W TFFFF_

_FUCK NOOO little lulu’s getting a bf :((((_

_i’ll be ur bf all night long baby_

_gimme ur irl addy i mail myself to u_

_LULU U’LL STILL DO SHOWS _

_EVEN WHEN U GET A BF_

_RYT??? _

Lucas doesn’t deign to answer the immediate concern of the frenzied, horny masses. Instead, his palm starts to run low over his groin, hips lifting up. He continues teasing himself for a stretch of time, lazily palming himself through his shorts.

“We have today an interesting question from @bott0mfu11 on twitter. He asks: _Lulu, I’ve been bottoming for a while now but I haven’t seen stars yet. I come just fine. But internet gay erotica always talks about seeing stars and now I’m convinced I’m doing something wrong because no such thing happens to me._” Lucas holds the hand that’s not palming himself up, sounding incredulous. “Um, @bott0mfu11, I hate to break it to you, but if you’re seeing stars when something hits your prostate—seek medical attention immediately! This is nothing more than a figure of speech as far as erotica is concerned, so don’t take it so literally. Honestly, I don’t know about vision blurring… isn’t it more like eyes rolling up and lids fluttering? Your vision shouldn’t blur unless you’re holding your breath or your eyes are watering.”

Okay, it’s a bit of a boner killer but Eliott has to laugh at that one. Not for long, though, because Lucas then lays back on his pillows, a hand already inside his boxers. _Shit_. This is the part where Eliott has to picture the most unsexy things so he won’t finish too fast. Puppies. The president of France. His grandmother in her underwear. Sander’s flat ass from that one time he’s unlucky enough to catch him coming out the shower.

“Next one—last one for today before we get to the really good stuff—is from user @spurtFUCKer. Inspired handle, don’t know where you guys come up with these names. I mean, mine is just a stupid pun, as in I once almost choked on a lemon cupcake because of a bet. Yes, it was of the ‘how many of whatever-the-fucks can you fit in your mouth’ variety. We all used to do dumb shit as teenagers, right? Anyway, he asks: _Lulu, can I go after someone who’s out of my league? Have you ever gone after someone you thought was out of your league?” _

Eliott watches in wonder as the corners of Lucas’s mouth tilt up in a wry smile. He stops palming himself, seeming to give the question some real thought.

“What is a league, really?” Lucas begins, sitting back on his haunches. “Is it a bracket of attractiveness? The ways we find someone attractive are so wildly relative depending on personal perspective. Too many qualities to factor in aside from the physical. Obviously that counts but that’s not everything. Just shoot your shot, if you want to. If they turn you down, then you’ll never have to wonder on the what-ifs.”

Amazingly, the chatbox _also_ chimes in with short but punchy opinions on the matter. Eliott forgets that people don’t just come here to jack off. Sometimes people just want to discuss feelings, even in a camboy stream, apparently. It is, after all, what made Lucas so different from everyone else; a point to add in his favour in a sea of equally beautiful boys.

“As for the second part of your question… yeah. Recently, actually.” Lucas’s tone turns soft and fond; Eliott tunes in enraptured. “You all remember the guy? El? Well, I know words don’t mean shit here if I don’t have visual proof, but you all have to trust me on this. Because this guy? Literally a world-destroying beauty with the body of a living Adonis. I thought I never had a chance at anything even semi-serious. But everything worked out and— yeah. And the best thing about him isn’t even that face or that body or—“ he laughs behind his hand. “—that dick. It’s _him_. I mean, everything about him. He’s so sweet. Too sweet, even. And he’s such a dork. Fuck, he’s so—“ Lucas cuts himself off with a sigh that telegraphs longing. “Yeah, that’s all I’m saying about him. Some things I get to keep for myself.”

Just as Lucas starts the bidding counter for what toy he’s using tonight, Eliott wastes no time outbidding everyone else. It’s unprecedented; usually the bids trickle in pulses. Most would have Lucas at least get fully naked first, let him jerk himself off then fuck himself on two, three fingers. Four if Lucas feels up to it for just a warm-up round. A wave of outrage floods the chatbox as Lucas cheerily waves everyone off, promising he won’t start the bid until _everyone gets some fun_ next time.

The notification for a private show pops up. Eliott’s cursor hovers for a moment, then clicks _accept. _

Anticipation floods through his body as the feed loads. At the site, private shows are one-sided streams where he can see Lucas but Lucas only sees the chatbox. Technically, they’d be able to take it offline and go on a whatsapp video call or some other platform, but once Eliott accepts the invite to a private show, Lucas will only get the commission if he stays on for at least a minute.

“Hi, raton_laveur,” Lucas greets absent of pretense or show. Eliott inhales.

Lucas is still shirtless and in boxer shorts, toys strewn in front of him. Lucas’s entire face is also visible. God, he’s never seen anything so beautiful and so—

He types: _are you ok? _

Lucas looks like he hasn’t slept. It’s not even bags but suitcases on the skin under his eyes. The blue in his eyes don’t look as bright as they did a few days ago. These are things anyone else won’t see in his regular feed, but Lucas has chosen to share with him. He feels privileged; the luckiest guy in the world with the most beautiful boy he’s ever laid eyes on showing him everything, even the not-so-manicured parts of him, the ones that can’t be hidden with concealer or lighting or angles. He also feels more than a spot of concern.

Lucas smiles tiredly. His cheeks look pale. “I’m fine, Eliott.” He’s only ever heard his name spoken through a feed like this in fantasies. He’d be celebrating if Lucas didn’t look like he was about to pass out anytime soon. “Really busy with exams. Papers. Projects. Stressful but nothing serious. You know I’m on partial scholarship, right?”

He answers: _i didn’t know_

Lucas runs a hand through his wild bed of hair, brushing it back and away from cloudy eyes. “I have to keep my grades way up so I can apply for full financial aid next semester. It’s been a little overwhelming, but I’m managing. It’s just—” On cue, he yawns, not bothering to hide it behind his hand. His eyelids droop. “Been so tiring.” 

Eliott frowns, replying: _and you still streamed?? lucas eat something and go to sleep please_

Lucas winces, tilting his head. “But… what about the private show? You don’t want me to do anything?”

He sighs, types: _my 1 request: just rest. please. _

He closes the chat and shuts the laptop off, sagging against the headboard. He rubs his palm on his thighs until the blood beneath settles. He’s not in the mood to jack off anymore, worry taking over like a hazy cloud.

A few minutes later, a message comes buzzing into his phone.

Relief floods Eliott, washing into him again and again with every message. He’s smiling when he messages back.

He climbs out of bed and shuffles into the bathroom. He squeezes too much toothpaste onto the brush and crams it into his mouth. He takes a quick five-minute subzero shower without touching himself even once. As he retreats back into bed, his phone buzzes in three short bursts. He skims it, entire ribcage shivering with affection.

_._

Saturday dawns bright and cheerful, Eliott swinging into action at around 11h. Sander had graciously given him the apartment for the day, staying over at Robbe’s to go ‘study for midterms.' “Sure,” Eliott had said after Sander’s retreating back, five tons of sarcasm rocketing through the flex of his air quotes, knowing Sander and Robbe would probably spend the rest of the day defiling all available surfaces in Robbe’s apartment. He’s never been to Robbe’s, but if the day ever comes, Eliott might spend it standing unless Robbe has invested in some grade-A disinfectant.

He tidies the flat, fluffs throw pillows, changes his sheets, successfully fixes himself a light lunch without burning anything—hard to fuck up an egg salad when the eggs were pre-boiled—and accidentally bumps his knee on a shelf with Sander’s polaroid collection stacked on top. Despite the minor setback he’s energized and productive, the warm pressure in his belly only building as the hours tick by. He even manages to sit and draw at his desk, completely focused on the sketch of a hedgehog and raccoon lying together on the couch, the hedgehog’s head pillowed on the raccoon’s belly.

An hour before 17h, there’s a soft rap at the door. They’d set the second date much later than that, but Lucas messages that he’s done with his review for the day and asks if it would be okay to come over. Eliott fires off the address. Then he dashes to the bathroom to quickly fix his hair until it’s what Sander calls an ‘artful tousle’—another anomaly. Normally he wouldn’t give two shits if his hair looked like a rat’s nest; it always got messed up during fucking anyway.

Speaking of fucking, god. He’s so _fucked_.

“Hey,” Eliott says, opening the door. “Any trouble finding the place?”

“Hi.” A soft smile plays about Lucas’s lips. He looks good and well-rested, softer around the edges somehow, skin glowing. Eliott looks him up and down, already feeling the heat starting to pool in his belly. Lucas must’ve felt his gaze; a light blush colours his cheeks as he looks down at two huge paper bags in his hands. “No, it’s an easy ten-minute walk from our building to yours. Also, um, I brought Japanese takeout? Just in case you’re in the mood for an early dinner.”

Eliott’s chest rumbles in a low laugh. “Want a hand?”

“Yes, actually. The sushi platter special’s heavier than it looks.”

Eliott opens the door fully as he takes one of the bags, ushering Lucas inside, trying not to glance at his ass as he did. Lucas sets the platter down on the table across the flatscreen, Eliott following the line of his spine and tracking it down to where his shirt rides up giving just the barest glimmer of skin.

Lucas glances around the room, whistling appreciatively through teeth. “Nice place. I swear ours is a shoebox compared to this.”

Images of Lucas’s bedroom come unbidden. His mouth goes dry and he turns for the kitchen, suddenly thirsty. “Thanks. Uh, can I get you anything? Drink?”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

Eliott returns with a glass of water in hand for Lucas anyway, who takes it with a small laugh.

“Honestly—“ He shakes his head. “Too sweet. This is gonna be a problem for me.”

Eliott elevates a concerned brow. “Problem?”

“I was going to tell you some good news.” Lucas reciprocates with a guileless smile. “But now I can’t decide whether I wanna do that now and blow you later, or vice-versa.

Eliott tries not to gape. Mostly fails at it.

“By the look on your face I’m guessing you want the news first.” Lucas shifts his weight from one foot to the other, vibrating with energy. “So I went to the Dean’s office to ask if I’d be able to expedite my financial aid request. He looked over my performance so far and...” He pauses, smile going up to his ears. “He agreed. I’m officially on full scholarship next semester.”

“Shit! I mean, that’s fantastic news!” Eliott whoops, and before he knows it he’s sweeping Lucas into his arms. A swell of pride courses through him. “That’s amazing. No, wait, _you’re_ amazing. Of course you’d get full scholarship. Was there ever any doubt?”

“Thank you for believing in me. And bugging me to sleep,” Lucas says softly, going pliant in Eliott’s embrace. He pulls back to stare up at Eliott, a coy look crossing his face, a flicker of challenge in his eyes. “Do I get a congratulatory present?”

Being pinned under Lucas’s hard stare makes Eliott go a little stupid. “Now? But we have to eat all the sushi before the rice gets all soggy—“ But he doesn’t get to finish, because Lucas is in his space, threading his fingers through his hair and kissing him.

It grows heated and frantic quickly, all thoughts of food and excuses and further delays forgotten. Eliott bites at Lucas’s bottom lip; Lucas digs his fingers into Eliott’s hips. It’s taking everything he has not to use the muscle and core strength he’s gained from yoga to pin Lucas onto the floor—scratchy carpet floor be damned—and screw him stupid, but right now there’s nothing but static in his brain. Instead, he settles for the more pleasant yet proximate alternative: steering Lucas to the couch as cracked whines edge its way out of the latter’s throat. Lucas's legs hits the couch; he tumbles on top of it and drags Eliott in between his legs, lips still joined in a heated, messy kiss that's all tongue and teeth. 

“Look at you,” Eliott says admiringly when they part, breathless and panting. “You’re gorgeous.”

Lucas sprawls out beneath him, splotchy red patches on his neck and cheeks, hair fanning out and framing his face. Eliott can’t look down nor away. But there’s nowhere else he wants to look; Lucas’s glassy eyes draw him in endlessly.

“You’re one to talk.” Lucas breathes, spreading his legs further so Eliott can settle between them comfortably. “I still believe you’re a dream sometimes. Unreal. I must’ve done something right in a past life.”

“You should see yourself the way I see you.” Looming over him, Eliott bends forward to gently kiss him again, brushing their noses together. Fuck, how did get so lucky? “You’d go blind, I think. There’s no one brighter or more beautiful.”

Lucas flushes to his roots. “So cheesy. Next thing I know you’d be saying I’m the only star in your sky or something.”

“And what if I said you are?”

Eliott noses Lucas’s neck, who tilts his head back to give better access as Eliott presses more feather light kisses to his pulse point, his adam’s apple, his clavicles, devoting special attention on the constellation of moles right at the base of his throat. He trails his hand down Lucas’s back until he reaches his ass, lets them rest there. Lucas makes a sound that could be a moan as well as well a giggle. Eliott squeezes a bit, and this time it’s definitely a giggle. 

He kisses it away and feels Lucas’s hips pushing up against his. “And what if I said ever since I saw you, you’re the only one that’s mattered?” he whispers into Lucas’s mouth.

Lucas’s gaze bores into him, searching. Up close, his eyes are more beautiful than he could have ever imagined, flecks of dark blue floating through sky and sea. Maybe it’s the star gazing he’s doing into Lucas’s eyes, but he isn’t expecting it when Lucas tightens his grip on his neck like a vise.

“To that I’d say—“ Lucas throws his leg over Eliott’s hip and flips them over to straddle him. Eliott’s gasp of shock transforms into a strangled groan as Lucas presses their crotches together, rutting against him, _grinding_ down on the growing hardness tenting his jeans. “That deserves more than a nice little _thank you_ from yours truly.”

He jerks Lucas down into a filthy kiss, revelling in his taste and heat, the slide of their tongues against one another. He can’t get enough. He never will.

Panting as they break apart, Lucas burrows his face into Eliot’s neck. It’s taking all of Eliott’s effort not to just go and rip off Lucas’s clothes and have his way with him right here on the stupid ratty couch. Then again, Eliott’s hindbrain supplies, Lucas might like that.

“You got tested, right?” Lucas hums, pressing a ghost of a kiss to Eliott’s earlobe.

“Y-yeah,” Eliott manages to reply through his haze. “I’m clean.” And how could he _not _be when there’s been no one else for months?

“Good. Here's what's gonna happen. I’m gonna take your pants off,” Lucas declares, pitching his voice in that way that gets Eliott standing to attention, “and I’m gonna suck you dry. Right here.”

“Jesus _fuck,_ Lucas...”

At some point Eliott’s phone buzzes in his jean pocket. He ignores it, because what on god’s green earth could be more important than this?

“And please…“ Lucas mutters, breath hot on Eliott’s lips as he slowly pushes Eliott to lay back. The next words make Eliott stiffen—yes, in all the ways possible. “Come in my mouth, okay? I want all of that in me. Every. Last. Drop.”

Eliott’s going wild—how the hell is he supposed to hold it in when Lucas says things like this? Fuck, he’ll blow his load the moment’s Lucas’s lips are on him. He’ll think him cursed with quick shot like some fourteen-year-old on the cusp of puberty.

It a small blessing that Lucas can’t read minds as he reaches for Eliott’s belt and unbuckles it clumsily. He pulls his shirt off with an expertly timed flick of the wrist, not missing Lucas’s eyes dilating with raw heat as he takes in Eliott’s bare chest. He helps Lucas pull his jeans down and casts them off. They end up on the floor, on top of his shirt. His erection is clearly visible through his grey boxer briefs.

“I want to—“ Eliott reaches for Lucas’s own shirt, intending to take it off.

Lucas captures his fingers, kisses the soft digits before settling it back down on Eliott’s side. “Uh-uh. Let’s save that for later.” Eliott just nods, too stunned to protest. There’s a lot to be stunned about right now. 

And now Lucas looks downright starving, his breathing sped up as he blatantly stares at the outline of Eliott’s dick. He reaches down to palm Eliott through the cotton.

“Fuck, I knew it,” Lucas whispers reverently. Eliott chokes on a moan. “I knew you were so _big._”

Lucas slowly slides down Eliott’s body, kissing his chest, leaving the spots he’s kissed prickling and burning like they’re on fire. Eliott arches his back a little as Lucas reaches his belly button and dips his tongue into it.

“Oh,” Eliott gasps out when Lucas presses another kiss to the sensitive patch of skin over his hipbone. “Fuck—“ as Lucas hooks his thumb into his waistband, pulling. His hips jerk in reaction, and then he’s—

“DUDE!” Sander screams from somewhere beyond the couch. “The bedroom exists for a reason! Use it!”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Lucas sits up with a squeal, the same time Eliott bolts upright, yelling, “I hope you die sad and lonely and in a garden full of pooping pigeons, because _what the fuck_!”

In conclusion: Sander had apparently messaged in the middle of their heavy petting sesh, saying he’d forgotten his laptop charger. Eliott hopes the shoe print on the back of Sander’s shirt stays on after ten washes; he made sure to hurl his sneaker extra hard. But even after Sander scurries out, it’s not the same. Lucas, too flustered to continue, suggests they go ahead and eat while watching a movie instead. Eliott is _really_ gonna go google-fu some voodoo spells on Sander for this one; something inflicting perpetual blue balls would be ideal.

Although, there _is _one good thing to come out of it. Eliott has chosen _Up_ and is rewarded for his good sense. At some point Lucas sleepily snuggles into his shoulder, clutching onto his side. He whispers, “A love like that would be nice,” as though Eliott couldn’t hear.

Not quite the congratulatory debauchery either of them expected, but Eliott’s pretty happy about it, all things considered. Judging by the contented smile on Lucas’s face, he must be feeling the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone for your comments, kudos, messages and most of all, your patience. i hope you're all still enjoying!
> 
> the next will be up shortly, but please allow me time to edit as it'll _really_ be earning the explicit rating there, and i’m going slightly mad over details and bodily logistics (i realize this is a spoiler, but you all knew this was coming—pun intended—right?) 😅


	5. wild wild zest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the thrilling conclusion: Jobs are almost lost and definitely given, someone is ready to be Demau-lished (oof), and the little bird flies closer to home than Eliott thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are, guys: the incredibly indulgent end to an incredibly indulgent fic premise. like i'm not even kidding, this final chapter is 90% sex. it is, i think, still that wonderful combo of sweet and sexy—just not as short as I imagined this would be when i began writing it. 
> 
> please mind the additional tags and ignore tweet timestamps as always. enjoy ❤️

Lucas tells him, once in their late-night messaging sprees, that he knows the streams sometimes makes him look more like a caricature of a sexpot, a figment of the viewers’ collective imagination. He’s always been okay with it, he says. Otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten into this gig in the first place. Boundaries are never crossed. Who he is onscreen is detached from who he really is. When he streams, he’s someone else. Everything remains fiction. 

_and what is reality, _Eliott had asked then.

It takes Lucas five minutes to reply. _not sure if you’d like it _is what it reads when he finally does.

_it’s not,_ Eliott says. _not stupid_. _i’m sorry._

.

In terms of relationships, Eliott used to feel like he’d already peaked. He’d given and gotten everything he could’ve and traded it for a dust-laden Do Not Disturb sign hung loosely over his heart, which is weird, because for most of his life he’d thought himself hopelessly romantic.

Clearly, Eliott has underestimated just _how much _of a real lovestruck dumbass he still could be, given the right person. He quickly learns with Lucas that he _has_ more to give, he _has_ more to get. And now what basically begins as a screen-exclusive, classroom-only staring-at-the-back-of-your-head affair (with a side of the most perfectly timed _I love you_) has now swerved into full-blown relationship territory.

Eliott couldn’t be any happier if he tried.

Well. Not exactly.

He could—if they’ve actually seen each other more times than he could count on one measly hand.

Their meetings have all been short and much too quick for either of their liking, both of them caught up in requirements. Finals crunch season means papers, exams, and projects are all underway for Eliott in his art history, studio practice, and critical studies majors. Lucas isn’t doing any better schedule-wise, having to attend a slew of seminars and group work the last few days. The gruelling workload has even forced Lucas to postpone shows.

Later, in the privacy of his bedroom, after having received an innocent-looking selfie from Lucas, cheek on his pillow with a bleary smile, Eliott collapses backwards onto his pillow and jerks himself off frantically.

Moments after, he holds off on taking up Lucas’s offer of sending him full-faced nudes. There must be some sort of irony in Eliott being an avid watcher of Lucas’s cam streams, but never letting Tinder or Grindr have coveted spots on his phone’s real estate. Mostly because he’s never needed apps to get laid. He has never sent a nude in his entire dating life, though many a nude have been sent to him on Whatsapp by randoms he’s met at parties or in bars, people whose numbers he doesn’t even remember getting. He hasn’t really thought about it before dating Lucas. Chalk it up to paranoia or misplaced self-preservation on Lucas’s behalf, but—

_dont. u duno whos lookig. strams r enuf_, he types quickly with one hand, the other still down his pants.

Lucas’s reply is impish and all-knowing. _look at this lit nerd saying grammar rules WHOMSTVE. you only type shorthand in streams. _A pause, then: _are you…_

_ys, _Eliott replies.

This isn’t the first time they’re dirty talking through text. Lucas’s declarations, ranging from the weirdly hilarious (_the way you wear your jeans makes me wanna kiss your ankles) _to the markedly filthy (_i want your balls in my mouth, i bet i can come from sucking on that alone) _are a constant playlist in Eliott’s roulette wheel of fantasies.

Today though, Lucas only texts back. _i can’t wait to be with you. properly_. _after all this. _

Eliott replies, a little lamely but sincerely: _same_

Lucas’s last message—_are you thinking of me when you cum—_ pulls his orgasm from him as if with an enormous invisible hand. Lucas must have some sort of reassurance kink because he _has_ to know Eliott’s only thinking of him. Not only when he comes, but before that. After that. All the time. Always.

He lies there for moments afterwards, eyes shut, breathing heavily. His mind sails an unending ocean of endless blue.

.

To their collective credit, those few times they’ve seen each other haven’t been for naught. 

Eliott remembers a memorable one being around just a few days after their mildly disastrous second date. All things considered, they’re going about this dating business pretty well, though it’s been a while since they’ve actually gone on a _ date _ date with both of them so busy. Before this year, he never thought it possible to be so sleep-deprived, shaking, and cross-eyed from all the caffeine he’d consumed, and so deep in the throes of his multi-cultural perspectives paper that he’s considering a major change, or at the very least a name change and a move out of the country. 

But of course he won’t. Not when he’s now with the boy of his dreams. It feels like a long time coming, and it is. He _ still _ doesn’t know how he got so goddamn lucky. 

And he has a sort-of secret: when he’s not about to keel over, he thinks about the future. Yes, he’s already at _ that _ point. The point where all his plans involve Lucas, plans which include but are not limited to: embarking on D.I.Y. home and garden projects; adopting a dog (or a snake or a bunny—he isn’t picky); staying in on Sunday nights and trying out different risotto recipes; making mood boards of refurbished furniture and decor; compromising on thermostat temperature; pretending to be annoyed when one of them skips ahead an episode on Netflix; co-parenting a fuck ton of plants and maybe even a far smaller number of eventual children who will have inherited Lucas’s gemstone eyes and Eliott’s fierce hair; living out their sunset days wrapped in each other’s arms. 

It’s a whole lot of words for _ what have you done to make me so into you. _

But not everything about forced distance is a bane in their dating life. Now they’ve begun to message each other about things that _ don’t _involve making plans. 

In short, this thing they have going on must truly be going somewhere. With every message from Lucas, Eliott feels tendrils of attachment firing up, issuing commands. _ Go to him _ , _ hold him, kiss him_, it says. 

And one nice, sunny day, Eliott follows his heart’s incessant command all the way to the library, covered coffee mug in hand. Earlier in the day, between the buildings, in the long, rectangular panes of pink and blue sky, feathered clouds scroll by. But the last of the frigid, bristling wind dissipates by the time people start to pour out of their afternoon classes. By the time Eliott crosses from one building to the next, the area is gilded with sun. 

Though he hasn’t been inside the library as much he should, he quickly sees why it’s Lucas’s favourite study spot. The place is quiet compared to other places on campus and free of giggling co-eds, more than he could say for other venues. The only noises are the flicking of pages and the sound of laptop keys tapping; the opposite of a distraction. It’s calming, in a way. 

He doesn’t have to look far to see Lucas. He sits alone on the fringes, glasses perched on his nose as he thumbs the pages of a book with colour-coded flags sticking out every which way. Sunlight beams from the windows in large golden squares, striping Lucas’s body like a ribcage. He’s so beautiful it physically aches not to touch him; it only eases when Eliott remembers: oh yeah, we’re _ dating._

Eliott watches for a brief moment as Lucas gets up and scrolls the bookshelves behind him. He’s absolutely not watching his hips sway with every step, or the way his fingers skim across the spines of thick, old books, or the way he’d arch his back beautifully every time he felt it too stiff. Does not visualize having his hands placed nice and snug against Lucas’s hips, or imagine being on the receiving end of his soft touch, or his back arching taut like a bowstring when Eliott’s hands move ever lower, even lower, more—

Eliott shakes his head, banishing the thought. Not the time for a full salute down south. Though is it really his fault if Lucas inspires so much reverence? 

He walks the length of the library to stand beside Lucas, gingerly setting the mug down. He clears his throat carefully, relishing Lucas looking up in slight shock. His blue eyes look darker today, a little wet and red-rimmed from lack of sleep, but still the same shade of mesmerizing. Eliott mentally catalogues it, filing under _ memories that bring me to my knees. _He suspects the file might be overcrowded soon. 

“Excuse me. I think I just walked into an E.M. Forster novel because,” he starts in a low whisper, “this place? Definitely _ A Room With A View. _”

Lucas blinks, then giggles behind his hand. Eliott grins, pressing his lips to Lucas’s cheek in greeting. 

“Oh, coming out with the library pick-up lines, are we?” Even after weeks of dating, it tickles Eliott how Lucas still gets _ that _ much colour on his cheeks from Eliott saying the dumbest things. “I’ve got one. How about: you must be the _ Lord of the Flies _ because my fly? Only goes down for you.” 

Eliott can’t help the snort-laugh bubbling out his throat. Totally his fault when the Librarian from a few aisles down whips a deadly glare in their direction. 

“You win.” He ducks his head, nearly cheek to cheek with Lucas. “My next one was probably clever but now it’s more along the lines of ‘you’re so hot I forgot my next pick-up line.” 

“Oof. Tough luck.” Lucas pulls back with a sympathetic smile. “Anyway, thank you for the coffee. But seriously, how many times do you plan on doing a charm offensive today? Fair warning: I don’t think I can take any more without seriously wanting to jump you.”

Eliott grins. “Warning noted. You still busy?”

Lucas sighs. “Yep. I may have to pencilbook you in fifteen minutes since I _ really _ need to get back to this review.” His attention diverts to the mug, holding it up to his lips carefully. His mouth falls open in a silent ‘o’ and Eliott feels his face grow warm. “Eliott, is this—?”

“Honey Macchiato, yeah.” Eliott rubs the back of his neck, suddenly unsure. “Um, I got two shots because I didn’t know how much honey you wanted… you weren’t exactly replying when I messaged you for specifics. I figured you were studying so I just went ahead and guessed.”

“No, no. Sorry, any amount is fine,” Lucas says hastily, shaking his head. His fingers trace over the mug’s textured edges. 

Lucas’s eyes shine with awe, soaking the image in. The carving is simple, and maybe even childish: a little hedgehog lying on its stomach, basking in the happy glow of a squiggled sun. Below the hedgehog, in loopy cursive spanning the circumference of the entire ceramic: _ pour lucas - je te vois partout, dans les étoiles, dans la rivière, pour moi tu es tout ce qui existe, la réalité de tout. _

“I mean this. You… had it engraved?”

“I…” Eliott hesitates. Is there a better time to admit he may be way over his head? “I did it myself.” 

“You—what? How?” 

Eliott ducks his head a little shyly. “You remember Sander? My roommate? From that one time—“

Lucas breezes past the reminder with a scoff. “I’ve only cussed him out in my mind like, oh, every single day since we had our second, yet-to-be-repeated date. Safe to say I _ do _remember him.”

“Well, he got me a coupon for free pottery and carving classes after that. It’s his idea of a belated apology. Didn’t really think it was my thing until I realized we could customize it.”

Lucas’s mouth falls open. “So you not only carved this but you _ made _ the actual mug?” 

Eliott wets his lips, half-expecting Lucas to make sly quips about skilled hands and _ Ghost_, but it never comes. Instead, Lucas simply looks overwhelmed, the surge of emotion like a wave, breaking against the entire shore of his face. “Yeah. Didn’t take too long once I got the hang of coiling properly.” 

“Eliott, that’s—“ 

Lucas’s gaze flickers back down to the mug once again, taking in the faint blue-and-yellow effect on the exterior, like patches of sun-faded paint on a whitewashed wall or the soft, flared interior of a conch shell. Truth is, Eliott found strange comfort in making the mug, fascinated by the ways the heat of his hands, sheer patience, and the inevitability of gravity altered what was once a lump of unremarkable clay, tactility giving way to transformation. He was amazed at the time to see the piece glazed and fired from the kiln, to see it survive the process of burning and emerge beautifully imperfect. In a roundabout way, it reminds Eliott of himself; the carving of Lucas’s totem an indelible etch on the surface of his heart, rough at first, made smooth and permanent over time. 

Eliott can read Lucas a bit better by now, can see how his head spins through his entire catalogue of comebacks and eventually coming up short. Eliott also doesn’t miss the flicker of heat cutting through the awe and sincerity in his eyes. 

It doesn’t take long for Lucas to notice him noticing. His voice drops to a quiet murmur. “I’m a hedgehog, huh?”

“Yeah. I hope you don’t—“ Eliott says quickly, then sighs. “I hope it’s okay. To me you’re just so…”

“So what?”

“Tiny. And cute.” Eliott chuckles as he dodges Lucas’s soft punch to the shoulder. “And gentle. You’re just so soft inside,” Eliott continues, voice growing more serious. “But you know how to protect yourself. If you’re defensive it’s because you need to be, not because you want to. The world can take a bite out of you, spit you right out, and you’ll always land on your feet. "

“Wow, that’s…” Once again, Lucas is struck dumb with awe. Eliott wonders how many times he can get Lucas to look at him like that in one sitting. “—Way cooler an explanation that I thought you’d say. I’m amazed.”

Eliott draws closer. He pitches his voice lower. “Just amazed?”

Lucas giggles as quietly as he could. “Okay, you got me there. Not _ just_.” He looks around, pushing his chair back and coming up to his feet, startling Eliott. 

“Lucas, what—“

Lucas takes his reading glasses off and sets it on top of his book. He takes Eliott by the hand, lacing their fingers together and pulling him up to stand. 

“Come with me to the fantasy fiction aisle. There’s something I need to show you.” 

This is how Eliott finds himself barely five minutes later pressed against the bookshelves, surprise fading into concession. Lucas’s hands rest on his hips, backing him up firmly with surprising strength in his lean arms. 

“I would’ve been fine with just a thank you,” Eliott hedges with a small smirk. 

Lucas gazes up into Eliott’s face, eyes radiant and knifelike. “This _ is _ thank you.” 

Making out at the risk of public indecency feels a bit juvenile, but Lucas is all hot for it, the tight caged space with Eliott at the center.

There’s a shift of movement and suddenly Lucas’s hands are on either side of his face and those perfect soft lips are on his. Eliott kind of expects it the moment he’s pulled into what’s basically the darkest corner of the library, but he isn’t expecting it to happen _ this _ fast. He blinks, the shock momentarily stunning him until his body catches up with his brain. He kisses back, pressing himself against the warmth of Lucas’s body. His eyes slip closed, leaning into the kiss, deepening it, mouths moving together in a gentle slide. Eliott feels his chest almost bursting—why aren’t they doing this every moment, every day? It feels unnatural at this point _ not _ to touch Lucas.

They pull apart, breathless, eyes locked, chests hammering before surging together once more. 

Lucas’s hand tangles itself in Eliott’s hair. In turn, Eliott’s arms slide around his waist, pulling him even closer as Eliott gives as good as he gets, something animalistic seizing him up and making him take control of the kiss. Lucas opens his mouth in a gasp, his entire body heating up at every point they’re touching. Eliott takes the opportunity to swirl his tongue inside, wrapping it around Lucas’s pwn in a clash of hot breath and saliva.

“E-Eliott…” Lucas pants as Eliott presses himself even harder against every clothed inch of Lucas’s body, one hand roving up and down, circling Lucas’s shoulder, pressing along his ribcage and finally rounding his hip and coming down to rest on his ass. 

“Is this okay?” Eliott breathes against the shell of his ear. 

Lucas lets out a low chuckle as Eliott squeezes him. “Idiot. You don’t need to ask anymore.” His fingers grip tight in Eliott’s hair. “It’s sweet that you still do, but. At this point - _ aah, _it’s sorta moot.” 

“Best to be sure.” 

And then they’re kissing again. When they pull apart this time, Eliott’s head falls to the juncture of Lucas’s neck, Lucas tilting his head to one side to let Eliott nip at the length of his throat. He sucks at the sweetness of his bare skin, feeling the pulse of a heavy heartbeat beneath his lips. Eventually, he finds his lips in proximity to the shell of Lucas’s ear, and it’s so red and cute, just like the rest of him, and he _ needs _ to nibble on it. He runs his tongue around the hard curve and feels Lucas shudder before drawing the lobe into his mouth to gently suck. 

Lucas moans out a broken staccato of _ “A-ah-ahhh,” _ hips circling into Eliott’s, who grazes the skin in his mouth with his teeth, just a gentle scrape which has Lucas arching, pulling back from Eliott completely. 

“You-you’re…” Lucas huffs, cheeks ruddy and sweat on his temple. Eliott gently pecks him on the eyelid. “I was supposed to be thanking you. Not you usurping me.” He pushes Eliott weakly against the shelves once more. “Stay there. And _ don’t _ move your hands.”

“And what’ll happen if I do?” Eliott tries reaching for a few strands of Lucas’s wild hair.

Lucas doesn’t miss a beat, slapping it away. He flashes teeth. “You don’t wanna know.”

Thinly veiled threats aside, Eliott feels the embers of painful arousal starting to burn a hole through him as Lucas fumbles for the hem of Eliott’s shirt, reaching up to feel the firm planes beneath. He could hear Lucas’s pleasure, the way he hums in delight at fingers caressing Eliott’s abs. His fingers skim across a nipple, making it pebble up, Eliott gasping at the sensation. His legs open in response and feels the hard press of Lucas’s erection against his own. 

And then, the beginning of Eliott’s undoing in the middle of the fucking campus library: Lucas looking up through dark lashes as he tugs at his fly and slides a delicate hand into Eliott’s briefs, presses his leaking cock against his own thigh with the flat of his palm. 

Lucas shivered, too, nipping Eliott’s mouth. “You poor thing,” he murmurs, a note of pity and amusement in his tone, and Eliott really kinda likes it. “All that cock and no one to suck it for you.” 

“Oh my—_ sssshit _ ,” Eliott hisses through his suffering, slapping a hand over his own mouth to stop the moan threatening to burst. His heart pounds its way up his sternum, past his throat into his temples. It feels like any time now they can be discovered, just as Lucas finally gets his hand on Eliott’s aching dick, and it’s half-terrifying, half-r _ eally fucking exciting _. 

Lucas gently pries Eliott’s fist off his mouth with his free hand. “What did I tell you about moving your hands, hm?”

“Lucas, you can’t seriously expe—“ He stops midway when Lucas simply yet expertly rubs his palm over the head of his cock. The skin of cock grows tight and rigid in Lucas’s hand. Already he feels a sticky line of precome drizzling down his thigh, the friction of palm against dick against fabric enough to make him bite his lips and twist his hips. 

Lucas only smiles, broad and self-satisfied. Then, without preamble, he takes Eliott’s hand and presses it to his lips, gently kissing over the pads of his fingers. 

Without pausing his ministrations down south, Lucas pops two of Eliott’s fingers into his mouth until they’re almost at the back of his throat. Eliott, internally reeling, doesn’t even attempt to do anything, just lets Lucas bob his head. His fingers move on its own, rocking in and out, blood rushing away from his head and downward; his index and middle finger disappears in-and-out, in-and-out between Lucas’s lips as he swallows them down, drags it out, then a pink flick of tongue chases around them. In a great twist of irony, Eliott’s the one who chokes. And stares. He’s transfixed, half-dizzy at the saliva pooling on Lucas’s chin, and the slide of fingers over his lips making sloppy, wet sounds, startlingly loud in Eliott’s ears. 

Jesus fuck, how the hell is Lucas this good at fucking _ multi-tasking _? There’s this and Lucas’s hand on his dick—it’s too fucking much and he can’t breathe, can’t think—

“Mmm,” Lucas’s quiet moan vibrates around Eliott’s fingers. He’s sucking on it like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever had or will ever have in his life. 

“Lucas, fuck,” Eliott grits dumbly, stomach clenching, hot and aching. 

Lucas releases his fingers with a soft, obscene squelch, a thin strand of saliva connecting the tip of Eliott’s fingers with Lucas’s bottom lip. Eliott’s thighs tingle with the rush of blood in his veins. 

“That’s what you get…” he starts, lips red with spit, pushing forward and whispering low in Eliott’s ear. His pumps grow quicker in pace. “… When you _ don’t _ do what I tell you to do. You could’ve had it all, Eliott. You could’ve fucked my mouth. You could’ve had your dick down my throat… like you wanted. Like I wanted. But because you can’t keep your hands to yourself, I guess you’ll have to settle for a what-if instead of a what-should-have-been.” 

In what’s maybe the first in a long series of similar thoughts vis-a-vis Lucas, Eliott’s mind screams, _ fucking tease. _

“I-I don’t mind,” Eliott miraculously manages to procure his voice from somewhere deep in his gut, “at least b-both of us are pretty good with our hands.” 

Lucas laughs against his throat as he works his cock in quick sharp jerks, breathing deep as his hips match the rhythm. The urge to come hammers at the base of his skull. Another deep breath. That fucking smell. Lucas always smells so fucking _ good _ , a heady combination of sunshine and neroli and bergamot that really shouldn’t work on anyone else, but it does on Lucas. It does _ wonders _for Eliott’s self-control. 

He goes off like a stick of dynamite, face hidden in Lucas’s shoulder as he spills into his hand. His orgasm breaks like a dam, as much relief as pleasure, roaring through his brain until there’s nothing left in its wake but flotsam and Lucas’s ragged breathing. 

When he opens a hazy eye, he immediately catches sight of the mole on Lucas’s neck. Without a second thought (because his mind’s maybe floating somewhere close to the earth’s atmosphere by now), he lunges forward, biting hard enough to bruise but not to break the skin. 

“Eliott,” Lucas gasps, rasping out a moan. And Eliott can see it, too, how turned on he is: in the pace of his breathing, his pupils blown wide absorbing all the light, the hardness outlined in his jeans.

“Lucas, I’m gonna…” he begins, reaching for the hem of Lucas’s jeans. 

“Is anyone back there?” a tinny voice calls out accompanied by the click clack of heels. They both freeze, Eliott’s arms wrapped around Lucas. Neither dare to breathe. Historical fiction, please, Eliott thinks—prays, really to whatever god watches over horny library patrons sneaking into aisles to make out and rut. “If I find any of you kids doing god knows what over there…”

The prayer doesn’t work. The sound of footsteps grows louder. 

By the grace of heaven, they jump away from each other and manage to look entirely inconspicuous once the librarian finds their spot behind the shelves. It takes seconds for Lucas to school his face into something cherubic, which Eliott thinks must be a byproduct of _ performing _, unseen audience or no. Totally not like a) he has spurts of come on his hand; and b) fingers were just fucking his mouth; and c) his erection isn’t throbbing in his dark wash jeans. The librarian’s eyesight must be shot, and Lucas knows it. It’s a miracle and a half. 

Meanwhile, it takes Eliott a minute to catch his breath, fix his clothes, and tuck himself back into his briefs. It takes an even longer time for his heartbeat to compress back to normal. The world has never been fair.

Lucas glances at him at the corner of his eye once the librarian leaves them to their own devices. 

“You okay over there?”

Eliott breathes in deep. “I should be the one asking you.” 

“Ugh. Could be better. Being almost caught with my hand down your pants by Mme. Durand isn’t really my idea of _ okay _,” he says with an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, well. At least I still have this.” 

Reeling from a combination of adrenaline and post-orgasm fog, Eliott isn’t mentally prepared one bit when Lucas brings his own come-soaked hand up to his lips and _ licks _, swiping at his own fingers with practiced flicks. And does it again. And again. Until Eliott’s come has almost entirely disappeared. Lucas’s hand glistens in the dim light when he’s done.

“So much better than the squirting dildos.” Lucas’s eyes twinkle when they look back at Eliott, whose soul has left the building. “Still no substitute for the _ real _ thing, but this’ll have to do. For now.” 

_._

The second incident of note happens that weekend after the library episode. That day, a low ceiling of quail-coloured clouds form in the morning, and by late afternoon is shot through with long and watery arms of post-rain sunlight. The weather matches Eliott’s lazy mood during his shift at the film store. It’s only been around an hour and he’s already spent a good chunk of time fielding several questions from giggly highschool girls about his favourite rom-coms. He answers, polite yet with a dry edge, that he finds Timothee Chalamet in Call Me By Your Name and Jake Gyllenhaal in Brokeback Mountain _ extremely _ riveting—but not before Eliott charms them into buying some memorabilia of Titanic-era Di Caprio. 

To be honest, he’s more of an entire cast of Moonlight, River Phoenix in My Own Private Idaho, and Leslie Cheung in Happy Together sorta guy, but he doubts the girls would get the hint otherwise. Popular and/or contemporary is always the way to go in this case. 

As for his actual job in the store, well, Eliott at least likes his boss on most days. Said boss, essentially a quirky proprietor of vintage films, vinyls, memorabilia, limited edition posters, movie stills, and other collectibles, usually left him to his own devices as he himself lounged in the back room or upstairs in a dusty two-bedroom apartment. When he first applied, the old man, cigar dangling from his lips like a _Godfather _extra, doubted he had actual interest in art and classic film. _You look like one of those lads in them vampire movies_ _my wife loves_, he had said then; Eliott tried not to let his slight offense be too obvious, after all, the man ended up hiring him anyway. 

For someone without retail experience, he isn’t doing too bad. On Eliott’s first week alone, store traffic climbed significantly and revenue rose up by 9% per the old man’s accounting. And they always, without fail, do better when Eliott stands outside the store chatting up passers-by about new deals and promos. Over time, their little underdog store managed to attract the patronage of legit enthusiasts, girls who surveyed the goods on the regular (both inside and outside the counter), weed-smoking hippies, and activists-cum-artists.

Today, a new shipment of ROK-dated film stills from California gets held up in customs, so his boss is out trying to fix whatever supplier or delivery fuck-up has occurred. He’s alone in the store, moving his hands along the cashier counter in slow brushstroke motions, doodles of raccoons and hedgehogs in idle poses. 

Somewhere along his fifth doodle, his phone lights up with a message. 

Eliott grins.

Eliott cranes his neck up and sees Lucas waving with both hands outside the window display. He comes into the store with a sway in his step, the old-timey bell from some Regency-era movie set overhead ringing with his entrance.

“And to what does our little store owe the honor of this visit?” Eliott curves his hand around the side of Lucas’s soft cheek. He tilts his head down to kiss Lucas and he meets him, sighs into it. He tastes like mouthwash and coffee beans. It goes on a little longer than greeting kisses usually tend to be; there might’ve been a little tongue. They break apart before they put on a show for some unsuspecting onlookers. “You know, I think this is the first time you’ve ever been.” 

“Funny story, actually. I was going through the store’s Trip Advisor page and saw this _ interesting _ review,” Lucas starts, propping up his face with both hands under his chin and staring at Eliott dreamily. “It read: _ Come for the C-3PO tape dispensers, stay for the cashier-who-I-swear-is-an-underwear-model.” _

Eliott full-on laughs. “If I had a billboard I probably would’ve sent the photo by now to try and impress you.”

Lucas grins in a way that conveys he’s already very much impressed. “Oh, there’s another one. This one was way more direct: _ I thought I was coming in Saffilm’s to look for James Bond candles. Turns out I’d not only find that—and some mint plates plus an exploding spoon with Sean Connery’s face on it—but I’d also find the love of my life. To the cashier with his shift on Saturdays at 16h, please message me if you see this _. 

Eliott snorts. “Very creative. Don’t know how reviews can get any more glowing than that. I oughta get a raise for raising our rating.”

Lucas goes on, “And I thought, wow, the love of your life at Saffilm’s? I better speed-write in two hours and see what all the fuss is about. So here I am…” Lucas gives Eliott an exaggerated once-over. “Definitely not disappointed. You think I should put in my own little review, too? _ Dear all, thanks to your feedback, I checked out the store. I’m kinda sorta sorry but overall very pleased to report that I was able to seduce this hot man into the process of significant othering _.” 

Eliott raises both eyebrows, leaning close until he’s nose to nose with Lucas. His voice goes low and secretive. “And what exactly did you do to _ seduce _ him?”

“Nothing much. Just wowed him with my sparkling wit, amazing charm, and devastatingly handsome looks_." _Lucas, adorable little shit he is, wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “I also blew him under the counter.”

Despite knowing Lucas to have quite a forward streak, Eliott is unprepared for it to come so early in the conversation. He tilts his head in open laughter, trying to ignore the arousal igniting in the pit of his stomach. 

“Shit, if only.” 

Lucas bites back a grin threatening to overtake his entire face. “Hey, it could totally happen. If you want to.” 

Eliott gives him a look that’s meant to be stern. It doesn’t work, if Lucas’s widening smile is any indication. “Tell you what. You can wait at the cafe across the shop and we’ll see if we can, ah, catch up later?” 

“I have a study group in two hours, though. And I miss you,” Lucas whines—yes, honest-to-god whines. The sound has heat walking up to the prison of Eliott’s brain and dragging out horniness kicking and screaming into the sunlight. Honestly, Lucas’s eyes and voice could persuade Eliott to do anything at this point: unicycle across Paris in full drag; listen to The Clash for 24 hours straight; join a doomsday sex cult. The power he wields over Eliott is pretty wild. 

Still, no harm in attempting to diffuse the heat in the room. “A study group at night? Nerd,” he teases. 

“You like that, though.” 

Eliott pretends to think about it. “I do. I like a lot about you,” he concedes, because he really, _ really _ does. Among other things. 

His phone goes off a second later. “It’s your boss,” Lucas reads off the screen. “Let it go to voicemail?”

“Not unless you want me to get fired. Then I _ actually _have to get a billboard campaign in the next few weeks.” He picks up, clearing his throat. “Hi, Mr. Saff. What’s up? Is everything okay at Customs?”

Lucas bites back a smile and keeps his eyes on Eliott, listens to him answer with a string of Yes and No’s. Yes, the customer with a reservation for one of their vinyls had come in earlier. No, the door entrance hasn’t acted up again. Yes, there’s still room in the back for 250 more posters. No, there aren’t any customers in the store at the moment (he mouths _ you’re not a customer _to a giggling Lucas, attempting to shush him).

“He’s on the way back,” Eliott says after hanging up. “Didn’t say what time exactly but I’m assuming not that long. I’ll see you later?”

Before Lucas could answer, the hinges of the doorframe begin squeaking and screeching. Fuck, maybe he’d pushed his luck when he said the door isn’t acting up again. It’s the risk his brilliant boss had decided to take with having a door flown in from _ Meet Me In St. Louis _or from one of those Post-WW2 movie set dressings lying around in forgotten Sunset Boulevard lots. 

“Coming!“ He rounds the corner past Lucas to grip the edge of the door and pull it open. And who else bounces past but— “Robbe?” 

“Eliott! Hi!”

Eliott blinks as he ushers him inside. He doesn’t hide his surprise. “Hey.”

Robbe seems to notice it. His smile is sunny. Typical Robbe. “I hope it’s not a bad time. No one’s in here anyway, so…”

"Course not. What can I help you with?” Eliott’s gaze drifts restlessly away from Robbe, onto an alarmingly empty counter. _ What the _— “Need recommendations?”

“I’m good, thank you. I’m just looking for a double vinyl. Ziggy Stardust?” Robbe shuffles his feet, cheeks turning slightly pink. “You won’t tell Sander, yeah? It’s our monthsary in a few days so I just thought it’d be a nice surprise—well, one of it, anyway. I can look for it myself, just tell me where it is.” 

“Oh. Oh! Yeah, sure! This never happened,” Eliott mimes a zip motion through the length of his mouth, already filling in the blanks for the other “nice surprises” Robbe has in store. He looks back at the counter, still finding a total of zero warm bodies where there should be one. “The vinyls are somewhere over there.” He points to an indeterminate spot somewhere a good few meters away. “If you need me, just call out.”

“Cool, thanks. I’ll take it from here,” Robbe says, clearly giving Eliott an exit route. Once again: Robbe? An angel on earth and no one can tell Eliott otherwise. 

He slips back behind the counter and tries not to jump out his skin when he finds Lucas’s bewitching blue eyes peering up at him, wicked grin firmly on his lips. 

“What are you doing down there?” he asks, stupidly. 

Lucas’s eyes relay nothing but are-you-kidding-me incredulity. “What do you think?” His next words are more hushed. “That didn’t sound like your boss.”

“Yeah, that was—“

“Hey, um? Eliott?” calls Robbe from somewhere out back, sounding confused. “Is it the left side or right side? No offense but the layout here is kind of. A lot.” 

“Should be somewhere along the right side!” he responds at Robbe’s same volume. 

Robbe doesn’t answer back, which Eliott takes as a sure sign that he’s already deep in his search. A look inside the store is much like an odyssey, with struggles, discovery, and the spoils of victory. He’s counting on the store’s unique layout now to keep Robbe occupied. He’d filed the 70’s concert vinyls somewhere far away from the counter, in between 60’s French avant garde and 80’s arthouse. Robbe shouldn’t have to come back and pay, giving Lucas a few minutes to escape. Or at least make it seem like he’d just come into the store instead of hiding behind the counter, kneeling in front of Eliott, smoothing his hands up and down Eliott’s twitching jean-clad thighs.

“Lucas,” he hisses below as soft as he could muster. “It’s not my boss. It’s just Robbe—my roommate’s boyfriend. You can come up now.” 

“Hmm,” Lucas hums, equally quiet. He bends down to kiss the bulge of Eliott’s zipper, open-mouthed.

Oxygen flies out of Eliott’s lungs. “Um, Lu…” 

Lucas applies just a bit of pressure to spread Eliott’s thighs the same way insane cultists near Tour Eiffel like to spread the good word of their Lord—far and wide. Lucas moves with the kind of boldness that almost seems second nature, following Eliott’s happy trail down with his nose until he reaches the very top of Eliott’s briefs where it disappears. He scrapes his teeth just a bit along the elastic band. Eliott’s heart rate speeds up the moment Lucas pulls his zipper down, mouth dragging up the clothed outline of his dick. 

_ Oh shit, is he going to— _

Lucas stares at his crotch with intention, expression dark and needy. “I kinda like it here. Besides, the view is _ amazing _.” 

“Lucas, fuck, we can’t—“ 

“I’ll make it quick,” Lucas promises. Then promptly backtracks: “Or not. Maybe I can take my time. Who knows. All I know is that I want this in my mouth. All of it.” 

“And we can’t do this at your apartment or mine?” 

The romantic in Eliott wants this to be _ special _ and cheesy and maybe a bit corny. Rose petals, scented candles, home-cooked dinner, the works. Potential fire hazards are no match for raw passion. Maybe if it’s just a hookup then this would be okay. But it’s Lucas. This isn’t supposed to be a drive-through, take-out, fast food affair. This should be savoured like a gourmet meal in the finest five-star. 

But other-Eliott, the one with his dick about to be in Lucas’s mouth, desperately wants to test that gag reflex. Or lack thereof. 

“We could. But this is just too exciting to pass up.” Lucas beams. Eliott just stares, part-incredulous and part-turned the hell on. “Besides, from now on, whenever you smile at anyone from this counter, it’s because you’re happy. Thinking of me. Thinking of me fucking you with my mouth.” Lucas’s smile turns innocent. “And doesn’t everyone want to associate work with a _ nice _ memory?” 

Eliott has a tell: it’s soft, more air than real noise. This muted, exhaled, low-pitched sound. He’s throbbing in his underwear, halfway to stiff and aching, needing Lucas to take him the rest of the way there. 

Lucas gets the message from the strain of his erection, the heat radiating from him like slow burning firewood. He looks up, all innocent watery blue as he pulls Eliott out of his briefs, just enough to get his lips under the head, kisses the wet tip, and pulls him in. His grip tightens on Eliott’s thighs. The head of Eliott’s cock nudges against the soft inside of Lucas’s cheek, and Eliott forgets to breathe. Despite the reasonable temperature, he’s already sweating like he’s out in the desert; the t-shirt he has on feels like dense wool instead of lightweight cotton. 

And all the while he’s looking up at Eliott as he takes him easily into his mouth, swallowing around him, fucking himself on Eliott’s cock as quietly as he can until Eliott’s legs tremble. Hands white knuckling the lip of the counter, Eliott tries not to make a sound.

He’s embarrassingly unsuccessful. In fact, he might’ve made a sound much like the desperate mating call of an ostrich in heat. 

Lucas pulls off with a soft pop—“Ssshh, be quiet, baby,” he whispers, a delicate admonition wrapped in honeyed hoarseness. Then gets his mouth on Eliott again, thickening his dick up in a few short seconds. His hand follows suit, pumping his cock in seamless rhythm with this mouth. Eliott shakes when Lucas mouths at his balls, jerking forward as Lucas sucks on the sensitive skin. 

His eyes shoot up as he hears rummaging sounds and a whoop of victory. He’s grateful for the distance between the counter and wherever the vinyls are. He knows he must look like a disaster right now, and part of him doesn’t want to know how Lucas looks; to watch and ruin the eagerness of Lucas sliding up and down his cock, mouth all soft and plush. Eliott’s body feels almost drugged. He digs his nails into the wood, heartbeat practically throbbing in his dick. 

And because someone up there must hate Eliott, this is the best time for Robbe to come bounding up to the counter with Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders From Mars. 

With his last stubborn crumb of professionalism, Eliott exerts all effort to smile at Robbe like he’s, you know, actually working, rather than getting the hottest blowjob of his life under the counter. 

“Y-you got everything you need?” 

“Yeah. I’m hoping the vinyls are good. Sander has been talking my ear off about wanting to have an original copy of this thing since forever—um, Eli? You okay?” Robbe tilts his head in concern. Below him, Lucas pulls away with what he hopes is a discreet slurp, brow furrowing. He mouths _ Eli? _ around the ruddy tip. Eliott feels every bead of sweat drop from the nape of his neck to his back. “I mean, normally you look so good—and you did when I came in—but right now I’m not sure if you’re going for lobster-in-a-pressure-cooker chic or you’re just really, alarmingly sick.”

“I’m fine,” Eliott gets out. 

Meanwhile, Lucas is back to making a mess down south. He glides Eliott’s dick back into his mouth, muscles of his throat visibly working as he bobs his head in a steady rhythm. He flattens his tongue along the underside and Eliott can barely keep himself from thrusting like a wild animal into that hot, wet, reddened mouth. A mixture of precome and saliva slides down his balls. Eliott’s brain is seriously in danger of going offline any moment. 

“You sure?” 

Is it just Eliott or is the side of Robbe’s mouth curled way high up right now? 

“Yeah. Let me—ring that up.” His gaze dips ever so slightly down to the floor. Lucas catches his eye and winks. 

Re-focus. Re-fucking-focus.

With the effort of a small armada holding up a brick fortress, Eliott manages to ring up the vinyl, give Robbe some change and his receipt, and stuff the purchase into a brown paper bag all under one minute. All while the whole world begins to glaze over beyond the stiff ache of his dick in Lucas’s mouth. Sometimes the universe deems Eliott worthy of pity. 

“Thanks! Guess I better split. You’re obviously looking unwell,” Robbe chirps, pocketing the change. 

“Uh… huh,” Eliott heaves. 

“You get it. Right, Eli? The situation you have going on…” Robbe swirls a finger at eye-level. Then it goes further down. “I’m thinking your body just needs to unclog. I can tell you’ll be fine in a bit. It’s probably just like, a vacuum… of stress… zapping all your energy, you know? We’ve all been there.” 

He’s hovering at the exit by the time Eliott realizes Robbe might know more than he lets on. A jaunty curl to his mouth telegraphs Robbe’s figurative x-ray eyes. Oh, yeah. He can see Eliott getting sucked within an inch of his life. “Hope you feel better!” 

No sooner has he left when Lucas manages to slide a couple more of Eliott in. His throat works through the struggle of accommodating his length and then learning to accept. 

Now, Eliott has quite a bit of experience in the people-giving-him-blowjobs department, has practically earned at least a minor degree in it. Mostly from girls who didn’t know what they were doing half the time and thought teething on his dick was sexy. But Lucas—god. He must’ve practiced… a lot. On those dildos. Vibrators. Phallic fruits. Of course he has. Either way, this is the probably the most successful attempt at deepthroating ever done on him. Hell, _ Eliott _ can’t deepthroat, so he has a special respect for those that can. Contrary to porn, it’s just not that easy to do. He doubts it’s a repeatable feat by anyone else—at least, not by anyone who Eliott would throw hands for. 

And Lucas is so _ into _ it, putting his all. His throat works around him when Eliott pushes, and his tongue flicks over the slit when he pulls. Eliott remembers Lucas looking so angelic the first time he saw him in the classroom, and he still looks it now, an obscene angel bobbing up and down between Eliott’s thighs while he licks up the length of his cock, traces its slight leftward curve with his tongue. Clearly all his practice has paid off, as he’s wildly successful at this deepthroating business. 

So successful that barely a minute passes before he lets out a choked little noise as the first pulse of come hits the back of Lucas’s throat. He’s a second too late in warning him, shit shit _ shit. _Eliott curses through the shock of his orgasm, riding out the last frantic waves.

Lucas clutches at his thighs until Eliott rasps roughly, “Breathe, breathe. Fuck, Lucas. You don’t have to-to swallow. Just—spit it out.” 

Too late. Lucas looks up with a slight raised brow as he swallows _ everything _like a man parched. At the sight, Eliott feels both horrified and embarrassingly close to getting hard a second time. Lucas pops his mouth off Eliott’s dick with a soft plop, licking the side of his mouth clean. “And miss that? No way,” he pants out. 

“C’mere, I’ll—I can…” What are words and how can Eliott get them back? 

Lucas laughs softly, swiping at the corner of his lips with his fingers. He zips himself up, crossing his legs to stand. “Already done.” 

Eliott blinks and then he sees it, the messy spurts covering Lucas’s hand, the squint-or-you’ll-miss it spot around his dark wash. He wonders for a moment if this is the reason why he’s almost never seen Lucas wear light wash whenever they’re together. 

“You already…?”

“Yeah. Just before he went out.” Lucas laughs softly, and Eliott melts at the sound. “What can I say? Being on my knees in front of the most gorgeous boy I’ve ever seen just does it for me.”

“Holy shit, do you hear yourself?” Eliott pulls Lucas in for a soft and tender kiss. He can taste the salt, the musky bitterness of himself on Lucas’s tongue. The headiness of post-orgasm and the fact that Lucas still smells like bergamot despite having come in his mouth and in his pants makes for an intense combination. “Fuck, you’re something else.”

Lucas shrugs. “Well, cocksucking’s just like any other job you do, _Eli_. That’s why they call it a blowjob, right? You strategize, do a dry run, execute, get feedback.” His grin is almost wolfish. “And the guy whose dick I just had in my mouth coming down my throat? Definitely the best kind of feedback, no?”

Eliott shakes his head. “Stop that. At this rate I’ll have to run back to my apartment and shower before my shift is over.”

“Yep. That’s totally the goal.” Lucas sounds smug.

Eliott lets out a sound between a laugh and a snort. “Getting me fired is the goal? Good thing we don’t have CCTVs in here.”

As if Eliott summons the devil with the mere mention of the word ‘fired’, the bell rings. “Eliott?”

They jump apart. Lucas suppresses a laugh as he slinks out from the counter before Eliott’s boss can see he was ever in there.

“Nice store, Mr. Saff,” he greets, tipping his head with a simpering smile pasted on his face. Nevermind the glistening come on his hands. He looks back, waving his - clean - hand goodbye, says, “Thanks for the tour, _Eli!_” and finally exits, leaving Eliott and his job secure for another day.

Later:

Eliott shakes his head. He can’t stop grinning.

Lucas responds with a photo of himself a minute after, a finger on his lips, his eyes up in a show of thought.

It’s a massive embarrassment to receive if anyone else is in the room. But alone in his own bed, Eliott allows himself to be filled with the same heady affection that’s fast becoming their theme song; their own beautiful sonata composed of dumb selfies and spastic heart emojis and painfully earnest feelings, separated by miles of ellipses and things left unsaid.

_._

** **

A choice selection of memories jockeying for a front seat animates Eliott during exams season. Just a week has gone by since he and Lucas had, well, _ engaged _ at the film store. Jobs were had. Jobs were almost lost. Eliott had to wrack his post-orgasmic brain with the name of a made-up egg sandwich special from the deli two blocks away. It’s simultaneously one of Eliott’s best and worst moments. 

His and Lucas’s last exam happens to be a shared endeavour. Eliott wears his pen down during the two-hour Philosophy essay exam but he finishes quicker than both Sander and Lucas. When he stands up to hand his papers over, Sander throws him an impressed eyebrow raise and fistbumps him under the desk. 

“Walk back to the dorm later after the exam?” Sander whispers, assiduously maintaining eye contact with his own exam papers in front. 

“Can’t,” replies Eliott. “Lucas and I might go somewhere.” 

“Post-finals date? Niiiice.” Sander’s smile turns sly. If their professor were to look up he’d think Sander had some sort of foot fetish, the way he’s smiling like a moron at his toes. “You and him finally gonna fuck?”

Eliott steps on Sander’s foot, grinding the heel of his Docs extra hard. 

Sander’s cheeks puff out in a wince, a sad attempt at manly repression of pain. “Well, that answers that.”

Eliott stretches his leg and does the same on Sander’s other foot. He kinda deserves it, sorry not sorry to say.

He hands his exam over to the professor, peeking over the corner of his eye to see whether Lucas has noticed. The other being so engrossed in answering, chewing at the butt of his pen, Eliott takes his leave. 

He stands outside intending to follow-up on Lucas’s reply. He’s asked him out to one of those fancy Italian restaurants a train ride away, but Lucas hasn’t responded so far. He gets it. After last week’s events, both he and Eliott are swept up in a hurricane of even more study groups, even more reviews, even more requirements. Between Eliott and Sander, they collectively spend more than a day just going over and memorizing philosophical notes and theories. And for them both there’s nothing at stake except passing or failing, so what more for Lucas who actually needs to keep his GPA up. 

For Lucas it’s probably not that hard. But it _ is _ tedious work. He must be tired. Eliott doesn’t know if he’ll agree to a date right now. But it’s okay. He just wants to hug him, kiss the top of his hair, tell him it’ll be fine. 

Lucas emerges ten minutes later looking bleary-eyed and distracted. He pockets his glasses, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand. 

Eliott is by his side in a jiffy, feeling a trickle of concern. “You okay?” 

Lucas starts, arms stiffening at his side. He relaxes upon realizing it’s Eliott and not Victor Meutelet’s milquetoast twin. “Shit, Eli. I didn’t know you’d finished! You’re probably the first one out. Congrats!” 

“Yeah. Just luck, I guess.” Eliott says brightly, shrugging. “And congrats to you, too! Our last exam for the semester. Finally it’s over.” He won’t mention his eyesight possibly going up fifty notches from reviewing barely legible flashcards. Or Sander teasing him that tall people just have less nutrients left for the brain _ after expending all your energy watching re-runs of your favourite one-man show _considering the larger amount their bodies would require. “So… I wanted to know if you’d be up to it later?”

A confused frown pinches Lucas’s forehead. “What’s happening later?”

“You didn’t get my message?”

“Your message…?“ Lucas fishes for his phone and slides the home screen open. Two notification bells chime. He winces after scanning the messages. “Fuck, I had it on airplane mode the entire morning. I’m gonna read it now—ah! 13h?” He looks up at Eliott, contrite as he bites at his lower lip. “I sorta… have plans. Errands to run and all that.”

Eliott visibly deflates, but he keeps the smile up as best he could. “It’s no problem. How about dinner at my place? I can kick Sander out. He’s probably heading to Robbe’s after his exams are done, anyway. I’ll cook!”

“Aaw, you’re too sweet,” Lucas croons, genuinely fond. “But my schedule doesn’t really have _ dying by food poisoning _ in it today. Don’t think I don’t remember you almost burning your own apartment down when you tried to make us buttered popcorn during _ Up _.” Lucas presses a quick grinning kiss to his cheek. “Anyway, wish me luck. The errand’s kind of a big deal. You’ll know when I’m ready.”

“Ready for?“ 

“Check your phone later!” 

And then Lucas is off. 

.

Some two hours pass. Eliott’s popping open another canned doubleshot espresso to join the last two swimming in his bloodstream. He’d ditched Sander halfway through the walk back to their apartment building, saying he needed to _take care of some important business_. It’s Eliott-dialect for walking around the block to get some fresh air into his system after being cooped up in stale, corn chips-smelling air for 36 hours straight; thinking what in the world Lucas could mean by _getting ready_; wandering aimlessly into a convenience store; and ending up with iced coffee cans and snacks to soothe Sander’s inevitable Spanish Inquisition-esque line of questioning if by any chance he’s still in the apartment.

He also takes advantage of the 2-for-1 special on Manix condoms and throws in some polly pocket-sized lube just in case his gut feeling isn’t a fluke.

When he returns, Sander and Robbe are heavily sucking face on the couch, controllers askew and a paused game of _Resident Evil _staring at them from the tv. Guess there’s no firing squad of questions today, then.

It might also be revenge for Sander walking in on Lucas on top of him that one time. Sander did pave the way to Eliott learning pottery. He lets Sander have this one in recompense.

“Is this gonna be a regular thing whenever I Ieave you alone in the apartment?” Eliott addresses Sander, stepping past them to settle into the loveseat he drags from somewhere near the shelves. He tosses his phone carelessly on the coffee table, unthinking, then free-throws a bag of crisps on Sander’s lap.

Sander dislodges himself from Robbe’s mouth. “For your info, this doesn’t _just_ happen when you’re not actually in here. Also, I’d steer clear of the kitchen counter if I were you,” he says sagely, and narrowly dodges the throw pillow in transit to his face. “Anyway, we’d be at Robbe’s but—“

“My roommate’s taken sole custody,” Robbe cuts in, tucking himself against Sander’s shoulder. Eliott should really be disgusted at this blatant display of affection, but he’s learned to grudgingly accept that the couple in front of him are just bonded together by the mutual experience of torturing Eliott, whether in heaping doses (Sander) or dainty scalding drops (Robbe). “He’s having someone over later. And since it’s the first time, I figured it’d be nice to give him the dorm for the night. He had errands to run but I think he should be back there by now fixing stuff up.”

“Errands. Huh. You know,” Eliott starts slowly, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about your roommate. Or seen him.”

Robbe shrugs one shoulder. “He’s around. You’ve definitely seen him.” His eyes shimmer with mirth. It’s familiar to Eliott for some reason. Sander snorts, muffled by Robbe’s fluff of hair. “In fact, he might’ve seen you before you ever saw him.” 

Eliott blinks. Wait.

Wait just a—

“Dude, your phone’s blowing up.” Sander reaches over with his stupidly long torso and flicks through the screen. After a two-second scan, he whistles lowly. He and Robbe exchange twin grins. “Well, we’d love to talk more, but looks like your boy has a show. Better open that quick. Says here he’s already started ten minutes ago.”

“Have fun!” Robbe calls after him when Eliott jumps out the loveseat, snatches his phone off the table, and runs to his room.

Eliott slams the door locked and digs for his earphones under his bed. Today is a Wednesday, two days from the usual stream. But since Lucas has cancelled a few shows, he figures there could’ve been some changes to the schedule. He swipes open the notification to Lucas sans the edge of his usual snapback. He sits barefoot and cross-legged on his bed in a loose bomber jacket, a fitted white shirt, and blue jeans—the exact same clothes he wore to the exam. It’s also the most clothes he’s worn for a stream, ever.

So this is why Lucas bails on him? Eliott doesn’t know how to feel about it. He’s torn between the itch to message Lucas and gluing his eyes to whatever’s gonna happen next.

Lucas is mid-sentence when he turns his attention back to the screen. Beside him is a large, innocent-looking paper bag . He’s talking with his hands.

“—Two fingers, three fingers, dick. That’s pretty much de rigeur in anal sex, right? Well, not necessarily. So, in answer to your wonderful question, our first time top @LisbonedTBM—bold claim, by the way—with lube as a given, the need for careful stretching and loosening of your bottom depends on a lot of things. How relaxed you both are, level of trust, experience, age, and alcohol level are just a few. Though I have to warn you, whiskey dick is a real thing. So go easy on the cocktails, yeah?”

If Lucas has noticed his username entering the room, he doesn’t say anything or acknowledge him.

“Moving on, user @manr00t wants to know how I know all this stuff despite being an apparent failure at keeping boyfriends,” he goes on, laughing. “I read a lot, for one. And have I hooked up? Of course. It’s not really my thing and it’s not always the best idea, but sometimes it gets the job done. One time, the job was done in less than thirty seconds. A lot of guys just don’t know how to fuck properly. For a while _I _didn’t know jackshit about this stuff either. Shoutout to my ex-flatmate and self-proclaimed guru for showing little baby me the ropes. And shoutout to my _current_ flatmate. I call him Voldemort-in-Hufflepuff-robes because he doesn’t want his initials or even a codename mentioned. But he’s probably the nicest, most supportive roomie you can ever hope to meet while simultaneously being a secret hoe. They don’t watch me—and thank fuck for that—but I love you both!”

Eliott settles into the bed as Lucas leans closer for the next question. His lips draw closer to the frame and instantly, comments come flooding in, both obscene and cute. Lucas looks down for a moment, and he smirks.

“I admit I picked this last one because it correlates to what I have planned for today’s show. User @theBoneRanger482 asks: _Lulu, what’s the most frustrating thing you’ve ever experienced in your sex or love life_? _How did you deal with it_? See, you guys, this is pretty interesting because my answer deals with the now. As in, the guy I’m seeing. You all remember El?”

Eliott’s heart thuds. Lucas begins pulling his jacket off, tilting his head back leaving his throat exposed, the hollow of it almost indigo in the low light. He flattens both his palms against his own abdomen, and drags the hem of his shirt slowly up the planes of his body.

“As you all know, he’s so fucking _hot_. Like scorching through metal hot. Robert Pattinson in Twilight-era hot. But it’s not just that. If it was then I’d have hit it, quit it, and be done with it.”

Lucas’s mouth is slightly open, lips wet and glistening. Tried-and-true expressions out of his performative arsenal. But somehow today it feels different. Real. It feels like it’s just for Eliott.

“But he’s… the sweetest, kindest guy I’ve ever dated. He never once took advantage of me even when I was throwing myself at him. He wanted to make sure we had an actual connection before going further. And that’s…I—I may really, _really_ like him. So much. More than anyone else before him. Or maybe even after him.”

Lucas slides a hand back up his torso to start rubbing circles over his nipples. Eliott sees a little shiver making his stomach muscles clench. An echo of that shiver zips through Eliott, straight to his groin.

“And I’m just so—so frustrated because we haven’t gone all the way yet. Done the do. Bumped the bumps or whatever stupid double entendre there is for homerun fucking. Don’t misunderstand, it’s not his fault at all. There’s just been a lot going on lately and he hasn’t touched me below the waist in _so long_ that I can’t even remember if he ever did,” Lucas says, voice hitching midway. He pulls his shirt off as iterations of _i’ll worship you all night long sweetcheeks, but getting the chance to fuck you is a gift from the gods _and _wtf leave that tool if he hasn’t fucked you proper_ appear on the chatbox.

Eliott grits his teeth, typing a quick _fuck off_. It quickly gets drowned out but he doesn’t care. At least the sentiment is out there. Goddamn fuckers on the motherfucking internet thinking they’d be able to do it better.

Slowly, unbearably slow, Lucas gets off the bed and walks towards the camera. When he’s up front, he runs a fingertip up and down his fly, flicks the button with his thumb, plays around with the zipper pull. Eliott bites at his cheek, unblinking at the screen. Then he unzips—Oh god. _Oh fuck_.

Blue lace. Eliott’s entire vision swims in blue _fucking_ lace. It embraces Lucas like a second skin, hugging his bulge, straining at the fabric. It’s so flimsy that Eliott could see he’s shaved, pubic bone completely smooth. There’s already a wet spot darkening the fabric. Eliott’s mouth dries up.

He turns around so his back is to the camera, shaking the most perfect round ass Eliott’s ever seen onscreen. His shoulders pull back, emphasizing the elegant arc of his spine.

“Surprise,” Lucas says with an innocent smile, like his lace panties aren’t being blatantly flashed in front of Eliott’s poor soul. Immediately, dozens or maybe even hundreds of tips ping the screen and Eliott remembers this _isn’t_ a private show. Shit. “I hope I don’t look like a dumbass in these. It’s my first time in lingerie so be nice!”

A cursory glance tells Eliott that the chatbox is nearing peak thirst; flattering, reassuring comments in bold capslock flooding the screen. Now more than ever, Eliott wants to reach through the screen to trail his fingers over the thin skin of Lucas’s milky collarbone, follow a trail down, down, down. Until he gets his hands on that lace, hook his fingers on the hem, stretch it taut, and hear Lucas moaning soft and needy under him.

Lucas reaches for the paper bag, taking out an alarmingly realistic-looking flesh-coloured dildo.

“And this is how I cope with that frustration.” He shakes the dildo, veins and all, in front of the screen. “Now this one looks like an ordinary dildo, but it’s actually pretty special. This is another mould of El’s dick, more accurate than _Grower_. How is it more accurate, you ask?” Lucas simply smiles as he settles back down on the bed. He reaches down and begins pumping himself through his fist, the lace pushed to his inner thigh. “Simple, really. Let’s just say my hands—“ He caresses the dildo with his free hand. “—And my mouth…” He brings it up to his lips, gently kisses the tip. “Have the memory of an elephant.”

He glides the tip of the dildo up and down his lace-covered dick in an obscene caress. Eliott shoves the heel of his hand down into his lap, pressing against his own erection to get some relief from the throbbing pressure in his balls.

There’s a wet squelch of lube squirting out of a tube. Lucas bends over, ass facing the camera, starting to inch into himself with a slicked up index finger. He drags it in-and-out, in-and-out of himself in a slow, purposeful rhythm.

“I call this one the, _nnghh,_ Demau-lisher in honor of, well, you know who you are.”

Lucas introduces a second finger, his other hand spreading his cheek aside. Before Eliott can process what the hell Lucas just called his dick surrogate, he thrusts the dildo inside _hard_, bucking his hips and moaning into the sheets.

“I-it’s close to it but _hhhngghh_, nothing beats getting wrecked by the real… real thing,” Lucas whines, pulling the dildo out and shoving it fiercely back in. He’s coming apart with Eliott’s _stand-in_ and the real Eliott can’t fucking take it anymore.

It’s as if Lucas reads his mind next. He knows that Eliott’s heart is hammering around his ribcage like a pinball machine. Knows his blood is buzzing with want.

“I know you’re watching. This is it. I’m re… ready. Come find me. _Please_. You know what I need you to do._” _

A minute feels like an hour as he tumbles out of bed.

He shoves his phone and keys into half-buttoned up jeans and dashes out the door.

.

Ten minutes. He can make it in eight. Six if he runs like a man possessed. If Eliott’s not forcing his legs to imbibe the power of the fucking roadrunner, he’d have appreciated the sublime on what could very well be a pleasant run through the campus buildings. 

As it is, though, he’s… pretty desperate. Even that’s a severe understatement.

The door is unlocked when he arrives. Scolding is at the tip of his tongue because what if someone else comes in here, someone sees Lucas like this, nearly naked and keening and out of it. He barely has time to register the modest interiors of the dorm—smaller than his and Sander’s, but it’s not half-bad. He could do about four cartwheels from the kitchen to living room without getting a concussion. And is that Robbe’s beanie hanging from a coat rack, _ what the fuck _— 

He hears it. Whines rising in pitch, joined by a starved moan. 

Nerves never win out in a cage match against hormones and adrenaline. He opens the bedroom door and finds Lucas laying back on the pillows, palming himself slowly, Eliott’s dick understudy lying wetly somewhere to his side. Heat radiates from his heavy lidded eyes like a lit match. He continues the lazy drag of his fist down his dick, just watching Eliott close the door and pad over. 

The camera set-up is basically just a laptop propped up on a larger study table up front. It’s still blinking red. 

From the corner of his eye, he spots the mug on the bedside drawer, just inches out of the camera’s reach. His heart warms, nearly at boiling point. 

“Lulu?” He’s careful not to call Lucas by his real name. He’s also careful not to get anywhere within recording vicinity, still maintaining a bit of distance from the bed. It’s getting harder - pun intended - not to come closer when he’s already half-tenting. “Are we gonna…?” He gestures to the laptop, feeling a little bit of panic rise up in him. He knows angles and lighting and shadowing features so they’re hidden from view, but he’s never applied it to _ fucking. _

Lucas shakes his head. He gets on all fours to go towards the camera, giving Eliott an enticing side-view of his strong thighs, his pert ass in those panties. 

“What do you know, guys? Looks like I’m lucky Lulu today. I guess that’s it for—“ 

Eliott reaches over and slams the lid of Lucas’s laptop shut. 

Lucas sits up on his haunches, half-amused, half-ruined behind a tangle of golden brunette hair. He arcs an eyebrow. 

“Someone’s impatient. I was already gonna do that.”

“Oops.” Eliott is far from sorry. 

Lucas laughs, clearly delighted by Eliott’s lack of remorse. “Happy last day of finals, Eli.” He reaches out a hand. “Come to bed?” 

Eliott draws closer, gradually closing the distance.

“So did these get your attention?” Lucas’s eyes drift down to the blue lace, squirming a little under Eliott’s heated gaze. He’s still hard. Good, Eliott thinks. “Have I finally worn you down?” 

“But you’ve always had it. From the moment I saw you. And then when I met you, no one else has even come close. You could wear a garbage bag and I’d still think you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Will ever see,” he says, and it’s not a joke. It never is. He lifts Lucas’s hand and touches his lips to the back of his knuckles. “You’re my dream come true. In this universe and all the universes.” 

Out of all the filthy things he’s done mere minutes ago, it’s this one gesture that makes Lucas’s cheeks glow pink. The wonderment and disbelief and affection that jolts through Lucas’s eyes makes Eliott feel like he’s done alright for once. 

“God, I—fuck,” Lucas stammers, scrambling to get on his knees on the bed. “Eliott! Get in here and fucking kiss me, you big cheese puff.” He pulls Eliott flush against him until they’re chest to chest.

“Cheese puff? Oh, you’re gonna regret that.” 

“Really?” Lucas replies, daring Eliott not to back down. “Make me, then, M. Demaury. I’ve only been waiting for you to do that, oh, for-fucking-ever.” 

He puts his hand on the back of Lucas’s neck and pulls him close, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t overthink anymore. He wants this so much, all the weeks of pent-up desire welling up and gushing out like a geyser. In that moment, all he can think of is Lucas is _ his _. No one else can see him like this. No one else can have him like this. Ever. It’s not control nor possession—he doesn’t dare dream of controlling Lucas—but just having Lucas next to him. In his arms. Being with him, always. He has a name for it on the tip of his tongue. 

But right now in bed, one overwhelming want overtakes all others: he wants Lucas under him.

He presses full length against Lucas’s body, needing to feel all of him, and brings their lips together. Kissing Lucas feels like nothing else; it’s a bit like breathing in pure oxygen, intimate and essential and life-giving. He works, soft and slow and gradually building dominance, his tongue slipping in, caressing, exploring, laving along the ridge of Lucas’s teeth. He feels Lucas’s body almost melt into his, gasping into Eliott’s mouth as their hips connect. The thin lace is the only barrier separating Lucas from the denim of his jeans, and the thought of it amps Eliott up, this half-demon, half-angel willingly surrendering to him. 

Eliott eases back, leaving soft, featherlike kisses at the corner of his mouth and against the swell of his bottom lip. Lucas lets out a quiet whimper as his hands come up, one to cup Eliott’s scruffy jaw, the other tangling in his hair. It’s like match flare striking, the scrape of slightly shorn stubble against sensitive flesh. 

Eliott puts his hand on Lucas’s waist and pulls him even closer until they’re almost one. Lucas squeaks when his dick presses against Eliott’s thigh. The sound makes Eliott’s balls throb with an urgent ache, and _oh_ _jesus fuck_, he’s going to lose it before they get any further. 

“Y-you’re overdressed,” Lucas rasps, taking the opportunity to tug at Eliott’s collar as Eliott mouths at the base of his neck. Will Eliott ever get tired of kissing the mole at the base of Lucas’s throat? It’s like a beacon calling Eliott home, a magnet seizing him even from far away. An almost pained moan vibrates through his chest as Eliott kisses his way up in a slow, wet trail, pausing to drag his teeth slightly over the bump of Lucas’s adam’s apple.

Eliott takes a half-step back, reaches behind him and grabs his v-neck by the collar. He yanks it over his head, shaking his hair back. 

“Better?” he grunts lowly, and the sound surprises even himself. God, he wants it so bad already. 

“Much.” Lucas appraises his bare chest with dreamy eyes. His thumb traces soft circles into the bare skin of his abs, sending pins-and-needles shocks over Eliott’s skin. “Look at you. You really are Adonis reborn, aren’t you? Care to show me why Aphrodite and Persephone fought over you?” 

He rolls his eyes. “God, you’re ridiculous,” he replies, laughter catching in his throat. 

Lucas slides his hand down to take Eliott’s larger one in his own, lacing their fingers together. He lets himself fall back on the bed, tugging Eliott along on top of him. Eliott follows, planting little off-center pecks on Lucas’s lips along the way, like it might kill not to be kissing Lucas for two seconds. 

He almost plops down in a graceless heap and crushes Lucas in the process, but he manages to hold himself up with one arm. Clearly all his balance and core work in yoga has paid off in spades.

He drinks in the sight below him. It’s like seeing everything in 4K after months of languishing under 360p. No image could replace the original. Not even the right exposure or filter (Lucas insists that _ Lark _ filters out his pores). Something that should be untouchable that’s somehow here now in front of him, to touch, to taste, to feel. 

Lucas is why the word _ muse _was invented. Lucas’s bow mouth, slightly parted; dark lashes so long they could be mistaken for fakes; soft hair spread across his pillow; the contours of his cheekbones—features that inspire elaborate paintings. Eyes that poets devote entire sonnets to. His body is solid, lithe. Eliott couldn’t remember ever seeing it like this, totally unobscured as the dim afternoon light streams down past ridges of abdominals, illuminating how fucking perfect he really is. 

No room for debate: It’s Eliott who’s the luckiest man alive.

“This view may be the best ever yet,” Eliott says softly, pushing Lucas’s hair away from his forehead. 

Heat gives way to softness as Lucas smiles up at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I could say the same.”

Then Lucas’s hands are digging into Eliott’s shoulders, sliding down the curve of his spine, pulling him closer even though Eliott’s already lying right on top of him. 

“You’re my number one fan, yes?” he whispers, nuzzling at a spot under Eliott’s ear. “And you said you wanted to do this right. If that’s true, then you’d know what I like.” 

Eliott leans back to look him in the eye. “Yeah.” 

“In that case, two things.” Lucas licks his lips, gaze fastening hungrily on Eliott’s mouth. Oh yeah, it’s really happening. “One, no one has ever manhandled me up a wall before. Very few have tried, all massive fails. If you’re up to the challenge, have at it. And two, if you don’t fuck me sometime this century I will _ literally _ kick you so hard in the ballsack your descendants from your _ sister’s _ side is going to feel it for centuries.” 

It circles Eliott’s higher mind to immediately give in. But he remembers: Lucas has always liked a bit of pushback. 

“Look at you,” he says instead. He pins both of Lucas’s wrists above his head with one hand —a classic power move from Eliott’s repertoire that gets Lucas wide-eyed. Eliott pulls it from deep inside; this shapeless, deep-seated, savage need to be the only one Lucas looks up at like this, forever. He lets it consume him. “Everywhere so gorgeous. And demanding. Who’s impatient now?”

“Blaming me is just mean. Weeks, Eliott. Weeks,” Lucas huffs. “My balls have gotten so blue they’ve fused with this fucking underwear which, by the way, is starting to chafe. It’s a Smurfs sitch down there.” 

“I’m no better,” Eliott admits, his free hand dipping under the lace and rounding over Lucas’s leaking dick, stroking it slowly, following a languid rhythm. Lucas visibly swallows back a moan. “We’re gonna do this how you want. And—“ He moves on impulse and kisses Lucas feverishly, grip tightening north and south of Lucas. If there’s one thing Eliott’s good at, it’s knowing how to draw it out for as long as possible. “How _ I _want. Any questions, M. Lallemant?” 

Lucas makes a brief annoyed sound. “Better start putting your money where—“

Eliott growls against his throat, biting the delicate skin and sucking hard. Fuck it. He’s gonna make sure there’s a mark there for sure, high enough over his collar that all the guys were going to see it. They’re going to see it and know Lucas is, has been, and will be taken. Lucas gasps and yelps and thrashes weakly, and Eliott loves it, loves seeing him like this, beginning to come undone at the seams. Finally it’s Eliott’s turn to return the favor.

Without taking his mouth off Lucas’s throat, he runs his fingers up and down Lucas’s sides, squeezing at the soft flesh of his hips, before trailing them up to his belly and to his chest. He plays with Lucas’s nipples, peaked from attention, first with his hands and then with his lips. He pays special attention to the softer flesh around his buds, massaging the soft skin of his pecs in dizzying circular motions that has Lucas’s toes curling and muffled gasps escaping as he grinds his dick up into Eliott’s other hand. 

When he’s sure Lucas is just about to scream, he pulls back far enough to get his hands on Lucas’s hips. He flips him viciously onto his front, pulling the panties down over his ass, ripping them at the thighs. Eliott’s only a little sad to see them go, but it’s collateral damage in the wake of a visceral, feral need. Lucas groans, and tries to get his knees under him, tries to get leverage to press against Eliott’s larger frame. 

Eliott doesn’t let him. “No you don’t,” he says, a firm hand planted between Lucas’s shoulder blades. 

Lucas groans into the pillow. “Eliott,” he whines, muffled. 

“Ssshh, sweetheart. Quiet down. We’re getting there,” he breathes, cupping Lucas’s ass and squeezing. He slides two fingers down and rubs them over his hole, and Lucas moans. He doesn’t really want Lucas to go silent, doesn’t expect him to. And of course, Lucas proves his assumption correct that very second. 

“Fuck—“ Lucas pants. “More. I need—“

“I said be quiet.” 

Eliott leans down, sweeps his tongue down Lucas’s trembling spine until he’s at his tailbone, tracing the cleft of Lucas’s ass just using the flat of his tongue. He drags the tip of his finger over his clenched pucker once, twice, three times, until the other boy lets out a ragged groan. He’s still a little wet from the lube he’d used to get the dildo in him. He can tell Lucas has vigorously showered before the stream, the way faint hints of bergamot hits when he noses at the soft mounds under his fingers.

Lucas hasn’t come to play. He’s prepared, wet and willing and waiting. He wants Eliott to know it. To do something about it. 

And who is Eliott if not his willing vassal?

“You’re gorgeous like this. So fucking sexy,” Eliott says, “on display for me, begging for it without saying a word.” 

“Oh, I’ve been saying more than a word, babe,” Lucas replies, his tone a mixture of frustration and eagerness. “I’ll beg if you want me to. Please, Eliott, _ please.” _

The words barely leave Lucas’s mouth before Eliott acts without warning, pressing his tongue against the closed ring of muscle. Beneath him, he feels Lucas convulse, fighting to keep still. It only spurs Eliott on even more, and he pushes his tongue deeper, then pulls back out, licking straight over Lucas’s entrance. After a moment of this, he presses back in again.

Lucas makes a needy noise, dirty and burbling. “Eh… huh, _ hhnnnghh_, _ Eliott.” _

Eliott moans, “You taste so fucking good,” and the vibration goes straight through Lucas’s ass and into his twitching cock. He thrusts back into the mattress, then back—back against Eliott’s tongue. He moans again, splays his hand hot and hard on the small of Lucas’s back, holding him steady as he licks and sucks. He’s loving this, absolutely loving this, his mouth wet and messy in Lucas’s hole, obscenely noisy. It’s the first time he’s ever had his tongue inside Lucas like this. He vows to not let it be the last for a long, long time. 

“You love to be rimmed, don’t you? Lying there for hours and hours, me eating you out?” Eliott murmurs, barely above a whisper as he raises his eyes to look at Lucas, see how much of a mess he’s become. “Look at me.” 

He isn’t disappointed in the least. Lucas obeys Eliott’s command, meeting Eliott’s eyes over his shoulder, looking absolutely ruined. He also looks impatient. “Please,” he says, arching under Eliott’s hungry mouth, his insistent tongue. “_ Please_.” He reaches back for Eliott’s hair and yanks on it.

“Mmm,” Eliott says, pulling back a little, but then he goes back down, and Lucas spreads his thighs wider. 

“I want you inside of me. I need that big fucking dick inside me or I’ll die. I swear I’m about to explode,” Lucas babbles, resting his head back down on the pillow. 

“Someone’s impatient,” Eliott chides, flipping Lucas over again and tugging him back for a kiss, letting him taste himself on Eliott’s tongue. Lucas’s entire chest is heaving, splotches of red on his neck, collarbone, and arms. Pre-come has smeared on the sheets at the spot where Lucas’s dick has pressed into it. 

“Fuck patience.” Lucas slips his hands between them and shoves at Eliott’s chest. 

Eliott laughs as he slides away from Lucas, moving off and hunting through his backpocket until he finds the tiny tube of lube he’s packed. Then he unbuckles his belt, shucking his pants and briefs off in one swift motion. He widens his stance and just stands there for a moment, letting Lucas’s eyes sweep over his naked body, his thick cock right in front of Lucas’s face.

“That took you long enough,” Lucas comments, giving him an indulgent little smile. There might be a little drool at the corner of his mouth. He reaches out, wraps a hand around Eliott’s stiff cock, literally pulling him in by the balls. Eliott hisses in response, eyes shuttering closed. “So, sometime this century, yeah?” 

Eliott shakes his head. “You still need prep.” He does it to tease just a bit, but it’s definitely true. As much as he wants to give Lucas what he wants, there’s no way he could do it without hurting him. And this isn’t Eliott’s first go at the rodeo. Spit and saliva is never enough. The lube Lucas used on the dildo has probably all but dried up. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Lucas huffs impatiently, frowning intently for a moment. “What can I say to make this go faster? Press me down, spread me wide, slam into me? God, Eliott, please. I want to feel you fucking me open. Please, won’t you do that for me?”

Eliott sighs. “Well, when you put it that way…” 

Lucas gives him an adorably smug gin, then glances pointedly at the tube of lube. Eliott flicks the tube open and coats his fingers. He bends to bite and suck at his neck, which causes the other boy to smack half-heartedly at Eliott’s shoulders and complain in between moans. 

“What did I just say about patience,” Eliott says against his skin, chuckling at Lucas’s indignant huff. 

“And again, fuck that,” Lucas hisses, canting his hips up against Eliott, rubbing his dick into Eliott’s thigh. 

Eliott gets a hand on his shoulder, pushing him down and putting actual force into it. Lucas’s eyes go wide and he keens, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his inner thighs. “You like this?” Eliott asks, pressing wet fingers between his cheeks, applying rough, slick pressure to Lucas’s hole. Without a second thought, he presses two fingers in.

“Yes,” Lucas answers, his voice high and reedy. “Oh, motherfuck—yes.” 

Eliott smirks. “I kinda wanna tease this out for a little more. Just because you’re so _ loud _.” He tuts disapprovingly, slowly withdrawing his fingers until only the tip remains inside. 

“No, no, no,” Lucas cries. “Give me more, you goddamn tease.” His hips buck up with enough force to bury Eliott’s fingers to the knuckle. He hisses, head dropping back into the pillows, eyes half-lidded.

“Greedy. And so fucking shameless. Do you ever wonder about those guys jerking themselves off to you, how all the cum they’ve pumped out could fill an entire room? How they all wish they could be with you? Those poor fucks thinking they ever had a chance. When I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.”

“I don’t care, I don’t care about anyone else,” Lucas gasps, voice breaking on the last word. “I only want you.”

“That’s right,” Eliott growls, works his fingers inside Lucas’s body with a slow, relentless pressure. He lets his thumb sweep along the ridge of Lucas’s rim as he tugs him open. “You’re mine.” 

“I’m yours. Oh god, I’m all yours.” 

“Good.” He slides three fingers in. Lucas lets out a keening whimper and Eliott soothes him absently with one hand. “Now let me make this good for you.” 

“It already is,” Lucas says frantically, arching up into Eliott’s touch. 

Then it hits him like a freight train. “Oh, shit. Condom,” Eliott says.

Lucas groans. “Bare? You’re clean. I am, too. Unless you plan on sleeping with—”

“No.” The thought makes him violently sick. “Hell no.” 

“Then fucking give it to me already.”

Eliott pulls out his fingers. Lucas winces at the sudden loss and tips his head forward, watching as Eliott slicks up his cock. When he’s all lathered up, he drops the lube on the floor and grabs Lucas’s legs, forcing them apart and laying his calves on his shoulders. The heavy blush on Lucas’s cheeks lets Eliott know he feels completely exposed, one hundred at Eliott’s mercy now. 

“What are you doing to me,” Eliott murmurs, nudging at his hole with the top of his cock. “Gonna fill you up just how you want.” 

Lucas gasps the second the tip of Eliott’s cock presses against him in shallow thrusts. But the gasp quickly becomes a long, helpless groan as Eliott’s hips snap forward, thrusting balls deep in one swift movement. Lucas’s whole body arches up and he lets out a harsh sound, somewhere between a moan and sob. 

God, he’s stretched and prepped—Eliott’s made sure of it—but he still feels so fucking tight on Eliott’s cock. This must be one of the best feelings in the world, fucking into Lucas. He could feel Lucas’s body stretching, trying his best to open himself up more, spreading his legs wider and wrapping them tightly around Eliott. 

“Just like this?” Eliott demands, setting a punishing pace. 

Lucas makes a sound that could be a yes, if it isn’t dragged out, if it hasn’t turned into a moan. His hands claw at Eliott’s biceps. Pleasure arcs between them, twisting a feedback loop until Eliott can’t tell what’s coming from whom. 

“You feel so good,” he whispers, rolling his hips as he thrusts even deeper into the tight heat of Lucas’s body. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so good. So good.”

Lucas whimpers at Eliott’s urgency, the way he drives into him hard and fast, teetering towards the edge of control. Bright blue eyes have darkened until Eliott’s looking at a navy void. Eliott knows this is the point where Lucas hasn’t just been pushed over it, but is starting to get utterly lost in the sensation. 

“Eliott…” He takes a few wanton gasping breaths. “More. As deep as you can go. I promise I can take it.” 

Eliott obliges, immediately thrusting into him, pulling out and slamming back in with abandon. Lucas balls the sheets beneath his hands into fists, low little _ ah ah ah _sounds coming out his throat as Eliott pounds into him. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes around the room with every thrust, mixing with the squeak of bedsprings, grunts, and high-pitched helpless moans. 

There’s a momentary pause as Eliott adjusts his angle and tightens his hold on Lucas’s thighs. Then he grabs Lucas’s hips and _ pulls_, yanking Lucas up to a half-sit with brutal efficiency. 

“Grab onto my shoulders,” he murmurs. "Hold tight." 

“Hu—aah!” Lucas yelps, grasping onto his shoulders in a desperate bid for purchase. He wraps his arms around Lucas’s lower back and sits up straight, dick jammed hard inside Lucas. Either Eliott’s muscles have gotten stronger or Lucas is just so light; he doesn’t weigh much to Eliott and he makes a note to feed Lucas a hearty dinner if he’s up for it later. “O-hoh-_ ohh _ my god,” Lucas breathes like he’s about to faint, eyes rolling to the back of his head. 

After a bit of graceful scrambling, Lucas’s back hits the wall, Eliott carrying him a couple feet up off the bed with his arms under his knees, dick still inside him. Eliott shifts his knees on the sheets and adjusts his arms, jostling Lucas’s legs and hiking him up even further.

“This alright?” he asks, just to be sure. “No cramps?”

Lucas nods weakly against his shoulder. “Please. Who do you think you’re talking to,” he says wryly. It turns into a gasp as Eliott begins pumping his hips again, the new position driving him in so much deeper. He holds Lucas up against the wall with his arms locked under his legs, his entire body weight trapped between his arms and the wall. He carries him both like he's nothing and the most precious thing, spread out and willing and waiting to be taken. 

When he lifts him up just a bit further to get a better angle, Lucas’s gasp immediately alerts Eliott that he’s hit the spot. He sticks to it, angling his thrust, curving his hips so he can bottom out again and again and again. 

Lucas’s head jerks back and hits the wall, a sliver of saliva sliding down the corner of his lips. His dick brushes against Eliott’s abs with every thrust, back stuck with friction, bed rocking, body taut and twitching. 

“You’re so beautiful, you should see yourself. You can scream now if you want. I need to hear you,” Eliott praises, biting at his neck. He could feel the vibrations of Lucas’s choked moans against his skin. “_ Everyone _ has to hear you. They need to hear how I’m taking you apart. C’mon sweetheart, c’mon…” 

“Eliott!” he sobs, looking like he’s about to pass out. “Harder, please! Yes, yes, fuck!” 

Eliott grunts and hikes him up further, arms bulging as he lifts. Lucas’s nails dig into his shoulder blades. 

“Oh god, I’m—“ And then Lucas is clamping down, squeezing down on Eliott even tighter. He shakes violently in Eliott’s hold as white, thick, creamy come spurts out, covering his and Eliott’s stomach, slowly dripping down and getting caught in the dark curls around the base of Eliott’s still thrusting cock. His thrusts become more savage, pounding with machine-steady rhythm. 

“I-I’m close, too.” Eliott’s breath is hot on Lucas’s cheek. “Pull out or—“”

“Come inside me,” Lucas demands hoarsely. 

Eliott obliges. He barely manages to keep from screaming as he rides Lucas’s peak, arching his back as he pumps deep into Lucas, comes in that perfect ass. He stays pressed deep for a long moment, relishing the feel of Lucas trapped in his arms, until his arms begin to feel the strain of it. 

He hisses as he pulls out, his over-sensitive flesh rubbing sticky smears into Lucas’s thigh. With the last of his strength, he lifts Lucas off the wall, hands on his lower back, and tips him carefully back onto the bed. 

He falls next to Lucas on the bed gracelessly. His brain urges him to say something, to pull from that well of feeling within him, so deep he could swim through to the other side of the world. 

Lucas tilts his head to look at him. He’s boneless, utterly sated, thoroughly debauched. For a moment they’re both breathing in, enjoying the combined mixture of their scents and the heavy musk of sex.

“Why are you looking at me like that this time?” Lucas turns to his side, one hand coming up to cup Eliott’s cheek.

“Lucas, I…” he says softly, a warm feeling blooming in his chest at the sight.

“Hm? I look pretty good covered in your come, is that it?” He quirks an eyebrow. “Honestly, Eli. I had no idea you were _such _a dirty pervert.” He gives Eliott a kittenish wink before yawning. “Almost makes up for the sticky mess we’ll be later.”

Eliott’s pretty sure his secret is sprawled all over his face. If it was ever a secret at all when he’d already said it within seconds of meeting Lucas.

Very carefully, Eliott gathers Lucas into his arms, pulls him down over his heart. “I think I love you,” he says, closing his eyes and bracing for the worst.

It never comes. Instead, soft lips press against his. The kiss is as light as the summer breeze and as short as a lifetime.

He opens his eyes to the loveliest ocean blue.

“I think I love you, too,” Lucas says. 

“Is it weird to say that even that doesn’t… really sum up my feelings,” he adds, because he’s tired and spent but he needs Lucas to know he feels like a bomb about to burst whenever he’s around him.

“It’s okay,” Lucas murmurs soothingly. “I know. This, and everything you never say.” His hand sends light strokes down Eliott’s arm. “I know what it means when you carved me up a hedgehog and a Virginia Woolf quote on a mug you made yourself. I know what it means when you stay up until 4h messaging me until I fall asleep. And what it means when you ask me if I’m sure about every single thing, just because you don’t wanna hurt me.” He smile is dazzling. Beautiful like all of him. “I know. So don’t break my heart, okay? I don’t think I’ll be able to take it.”

Eliott chuckles despite himself. Tender affection springs up inside him; he pushes it towards Lucas clumsily, feeling for all the world like a toddler clutching a fistful of grubby wildflowers. A field of emotion, rich and sweeping, laying out for all the world to behold.

“I think you’d see me get trampled on first by a herd of water buffaloes before that ever happens.”

Lucas laces their fingers together like pieces of a puzzle, holding him to his promise.

. 

They never did end up getting dinner. Young as they both are, pent-up horniness and spent adrenaline give way to fatigue as they sleep the entire day and night away. In the middle of the night, he pulls Lucas’s back tight against his front until they’re curved together like spoons in a drawer. At some point, Lucas sleeps twined around him like a monkey around a tree.

Eliott wakes up at the asscrack of dawn a little too warm, Lucas distinctively solid on top of him but comfortable. The need to shower off the feeling of dried up spunk on his stomach wins over the need to stay unmoving. He pads into the apartment bathroom, finding it modest but clean. There’s a large tub of lube beside a facial wash, shaving cream, and two jars of moisturizers.

When it comes down to it, Eliott doesn’t really care about bathroom logistics when all he needs is to wash the come away. The hot spray makes him feel like a person again.

Lucas slips into the thick bathroom air while Eliott’s inside, yawning behind his hand. He walks in naked, skimming his fingers through sleep-mussed hair. His collarbone and hips are mottled with small bruises. Maybe Eliott did get carried away there.

“Want breakfast?” Eliott calls, rinsing out the rest of his conditioner as he watches Lucas’s distorted image through the glass.

“Yep. As long as you’re not cooking.” The last few words come out garbled around Lucas’s toothbrush. He spits out the foam. “I didn’t really eat much yesterday. Just some juice. Fruits, too.”

“What? Why?” The next time he looks up, Lucas is already there, sliding open the shower door.

Lucas gives him a flat, affectionate look. “Because I was planning on bottoming for you?”

“Ah," is his succinct response. Right. Of course he should’ve known this sort of thing takes work. Actual work. 

“Make room?” Lucas scrunches his nose cutely. “I already smell gross.”

Eliott scoots closer to the wall. Then he reverses that step backwards and offers to wash Lucas’s hair. When it’s wet and lathered it glides like butter through his fingers. He massages the shampoo into Lucas’s scalp, watching the warm suds run down Lucas’s shoulders and the swell of his ass. The steam burns his skin an attractive pink.

He clasps Lucas by the neck and pulls him in for a kiss. He fits his mouth over Lucas’s shoulder blade as Lucas grabs at the shower rack for purchase. A bottle of shampoo falls to the tile, forgotten. Eliott follows suit, getting on his knees. Lucas’s skin is slick with water, the smooth friction under Eliott’s hands making his blood buzz. Lucas is already so hard he’s trembling, head dropping forward with a gasping breath.

Eliott ducks in and licks the inside of Lucas’s thighs, drags his tongue through the come that hasn’t washed off yet, salty and warm. Lucas shakes when Eliott mouths at his balls, jerking forward, legs spreading further apart.

Warm water streams down his back. His pulse booms in his ribcage, chin covered in spit as he sloppily fits Lucas’s dick into his mouth. This isn’t really an area where Eliott excels. But what he lacks in technique he makes up for in enthusiasm, bobbing his head up and down with long, tenacious strokes until Lucas’s thighs quiver and he’s pulling off, coming on Eliott’s face.

“Shit, sorry,” Lucas rasps, thumbing over Eliott’s cheek. Most of it dribbles down to his chin. He doesn’t mind. In fact, he may actually really fucking like it. “I didn’t think I’d come so fast, fuck.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Eliott says, pushing himself up and letting Lucas clean his face in tender strokes.

.

They’re eating take-out pancakes for breakfast when Robbe walks into the apartment.

Eliott gapes, slack-jawed in that unattractive might-be-catching-flies way. He plays the reel of previous days in his head and promptly has a low-key freak out. There were hints but Eliott never assumed. Or processed. Horniness is a disease. 

“Robbe?” He turns to Lucas accusingly. “_Robbe_ was your roommate this entire time?”

“Well, who else was gonna let him know you even existed, Eli?” Robbe says gently, hanging his jacket on the rack next to his beanie. “Lucas here has been single for more than a year. One day I just decided I’ve had enough of his single person whining—

“Spoken like a true recently-coupled person who just happens to not-so-secretly get a kick out of gloating—”

“—And showed him your instagram photos.”

Lucas glares in warning. “Robbe...”

Robbe pays no mind, spilling all the nuggets of info until Eliott’s tripping on overload. “It’s that black and white one with you in that coat, all sexy, smouldering eyes? It was legit a panty-dropper moment for Lucas. He was begging for an intro. Then Sander told me you guys were taking that Philosophy elective. Boom! Lucas gets to score, I get some peace, problem solved.”

_He might’ve seen you before you ever saw him._

“Well, I can’t believe you managed to date Sander for longer than six months. I guess sometimes miracles do happen,” Lucas says testily, an embarrassed blush rising to his cheeks. 

Robbe ignores him. “Hey! Pancakes! You got some for me, too?”

Lucas stares, radiating irritation and general grumpiness. Robbe stares back, radiating the brightness and pep of a man well-fucked. Well, Lucas is too, but he hasn’t had his morning coffee yet. It’s a fascinating watch; the non-verbal look-off feels a bit like watching two cobras with contrasting scales fighting it out in a death pit. Who’s gonna choke the other out first.

Lucas gives in with a scoff, rolling his eyes. He stuffs a mouthful of pancake, chewing viciously. “Bah, I thought you’d already eaten at Sander’s.”

“You mean mine and Sander’s,” Eliott corrects weakly, head swimming in all directions.

Robbe makes a beeline for the pancake drowning in the most syrup. “I did, but you know I’ll make room for anything sweet.”

“Eat too much of those and it’s cardiac arrest inducing,” Lucas comments offhandedly, cutting out another piece.

“Great,” Robbe retaliates, a smile taking over his face. “We’re gonna be cubicle roomies at the morgue, too.”

Eliott leans back in his chair, half-expecting a WWE-level match to materialize any moment,

To Eliott’s surprise, Robbe and Lucas share a look, both letting out identical peals of laughter.

“Is this how you guys always are?” Eliott says, feeling like lost leaf caught up in a typhoon of befuddlement. It’s like getting saddled with the sudden knowledge that two of the gentlest puppies you’ve ever petted could actually tear flesh if they wanted to. No cute tiny nibbles here.

“He’s usually more of an Oscar the Grouch than Tweety Bird,” Robbe says, flagrantly mixing up his fictional children’s characters. “But he’s sweet when he wants to be. And I know he’s _extremely _sweet with you. Did you like the mould? Arthur, insanely connected rich boy that he is, knows a guy outside the city who does those silicone moulds for better and cheaper. I was actually thinking of getting one of—“

“TMI, Ijzermans!”

For the first time since Eliott’s known Robbe, the latter rolls his eyes skyward. “Spare me. As if you don’t subject _me_ to a weekly dose of TMI. How many times have I had to leave the dorm because of you moaning worse than a cat in heat, huh? The walls are _thin, _Lucas. Thin as a crumbly cracker.”

Eliott files the thought for future reference: _reassess Robbe; __never_ _mess with._

_._

_A month later: _

“Are you really okay with this? I’m just saying don’t have to do it if you’re not sure,” Lucas asks for the nth time, stroking the ridges of his knuckles as they sit on the edge of Lucas’s bed.

He takes a prolonged breath. “It’s fine. I wanna do this with you.” He draws Lucas near and love is warm and heavy in his arms. He reaches out to cover Lucas’s hand in his. His skin is cool; Eliott flips his palm over and traces the lines on it. Fingertips ghosting over creases. “I love you.”

A soft smile curls up the side of Lucas’s lips. “I love you, too, cheese ball.”

“Yeah, we’re reaching cheese quota. I’m kind of grossed out by myself.”

“Aw, don’t worry, baby. I like it.” Lucas’s words are muffled against his shirt as Eliott presses a kiss to the top of his head.

Today is Lucas’s penultimate stream. He’s decided to stop the gig for good. A bit for pragmatic reasons—he’ll be juggling a surprise internship and a research assistant stint next semester—but mostly because he really does take being taken seriously. And as for Eliott, well, far be it from him to be a total hypocrite and attempt to wrest a legitimate source of income from Lucas by force or through guilt-tripping.

But honestly? He’s not complaining. Not at all.

He’s doing the last two streams with Lucas. For support and solidarity, yes. But also because he’d let it slip one time while they’re out drinking with Lucas’s friends that he’s always wondered what if would be like to be fucked oncam, how fast he can get off on it. Lucas had laughed then, but Eliott didn’t follow, staying silent, sheepishly rubbing his neck. _You’re serious,_ Lucas exclaimed, eyebrows up to his hairline, _holy fuck_.

Which all leads to today. Lucas gets up to fiddle with the laptop camera.

“Remember the angles we talked about, okay? We can’t flash our faces. I don’t want any of them seeing you, ever. Everyone is gonna try and cyber-stalk you and I’d have to go on a murder spree.”

Eliott nods. “Got it.”

On the bedside drawer, Lucas’s alarm phone chimes. “You ready?” Lucas glances at Eliott while hunched over the keys.

“As I’ll ever be.” Eliott stands up so his face would be out of view.

“Okay. Showtime, then,” Lucas murmurs, more to himself, and clicks the ‘live’ button. Eliott’s phone buzzes in his pocket, letting him know it’s up online. Lucas remains in front of the laptop for a moment, watching as the number of viewers climb up by the second.

“Hey, hoes and pervs,” he purrs. It’s a little surreal seeing him like this, everything coming full circle. This isn’t the Lucas he’s come to know bit by lovely bit everyday. Still, this version of Lucas will always hold a special place in Eliott’s heart. “The last time we had to cut it short, so I’ve got a surprise! As you can see, I have here with me my gorgeous boyfriend, El. Yep, the man, the myth, the legend. The One True Dick.”

Eliott chokes on a laugh. _Little shit. _He ends up next to Lucas and pulls him in for a heated kiss. The camera frame cuts off just at their necks; the viewers only see how his arms sneak around Lucas’s body, slipping into the backpockets of jeans to palm at his ass.

Lucas breaks away with herculean effort. “But first, an announcement,” he explains, allowing Eliott to tug his hips closer. “Apparently a lot of you want us to be someone else for the last stream. So much faith in our acting skills.” He laughs, playing with the hem of Eliott’s shirt. “So by overwhelming majority, we’ll be roleplaying for the last ever stream. A second poll will go up on twitter later so you’ll have your choices for the kind of roleplay we’ll be doing. Vote wisely!”

He eventually lets go of Eliott to walk towards yet another nondescript paper bag somewhere on the study table. He tosses it to Eliott, who catches it effortlessly.

“For today, since it’s a special show…” He grins at Eliott who’s knelt down on the bed. “We’re doing something different than the usual.” He slinks closer, almost sauntering, half-lidded eyes going dark. “I’ll be tying him up. Blindfolding him. Then I’ll ride that magnificent cock into the sunset. Mmm, guys, you won’t believe how amazing it feels inside. Sybians have nothing on this dick. And the amazing finale: I get to use a mould of _my _dick on him.”

On cue, Eliott waves the silicone mould in front of the camera.

“You excited, baby?” Lucas says, scooting closer. Arousal begins blanketing the entire room, filling every crevice. “Why don’t you take that shirt off for me, show everyone how fucking lucky I really am?”

Eliott obeys without hesitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. why lemonade? (a) it’s a meta reference to lemons and limes being flashing signs of “this fic has nc-17 content” pre-ao3 tags; (b) it’s a lululemon pun which i thought just sounded cute. also refers to an incident in lucas’s teen years when he tried to fit a shitton of lemon cupcakes in his mouth for a bet; (c) it isn’t that deep, but through his camboy work, lucas was able to gain something nice and sweet and delicious for himself, if you know what i mean. 
> 
> 2\. in case anyone was wondering what the soundtrack to this chapter is, it’s dua lipa’s entire future nostalgia album. in particular, [_pretty please_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WmqFvL93ofY) and [_cool_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHeWnGTG9rE) represent lucas and eliott, respectively — each song perfectly encapsulates in 3 minutes all their desperate, longing, passionate, lovely, and horny feelings for each other. 
> 
> 3\. lucas’s twitter feed and persona is based on an actual underground twitter phenom where like-minded guys try to find each other on twitter with hashtags—sort of like grindr but on twitter, with way more verbal thirst (memes and traps), cam stream and short porn video links, confession threads, and the like. his pfp being a twinkie with cream oozing out is very much intentional - lets his target audience know what his content is lol.
> 
> 4\. lucas’s missives about gay sex: based on actual conversations i’ve had over the years. there’s also a helpful post on reddit about [gay slang terms](https://www.reddit.com/r/askgaybros/comments/2xe2kz/gaybros_who_speak_other_languages_whats_gay_slang/) from different countries, which is where the hashtag #PassifParis and tbm (très bien monté meaning well-hung) came from. 
> 
> 5\. if it isn't obvious enough, i'm not french. so if this were real life, lucas and eliott and their very french sensibilities would probably be appalled at the shameless bastardization of croissants in part 4. (un)fortunately, croissants like this do exist—i may have tried 1 or 2 in my time. yes, they are deliciously deviant. yes, they’re probably baked by the hands of satan. 
> 
> 6\. big big shoutout to the following: my beta D, an irl sexy scorpio stud, without whom this floundering virgo would’ve been left to languish in the dark - you’re the real mvp; my darling A, who enabled the conception, development, and completion of this fic; jaime ([@surrealsunday](http://surrealsunday.tumblr.com/)), who always lent an ear for me whenever i had doubts - you are as sweet and beautiful as the stories you write, my friend; and all of you here on ao3 and tumblr who sent me messages of encouragement, enthusiasm, and questions! the response to this has been so unexpected and amazing! clearly, elu needs more indulgent af fics. thank you so much for coming along with me on this little ride. i have no idea when i will resume writing, if ever. but never say never, right? so see you in the next, if it happens? :) 
> 
> 7\. finally, given the unprecedented, extraordinary circumstances we find ourselves in, i’m actually in relieved disbelief that this even managed to be finished at all. mentally stressful times we find ourselves in, my friends. hope you are all staying safe, well, and healthy. i hope, even for brief moment, that this fic was able to take your mind off things and make you smile. please take care of yourselves ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> please feel free to bug me on tumblr @pinkplanetaries :)


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